Red Haired Girl
by DuchessRaven
Summary: This is the entire movie told from MJ's point of view. Not your common little summary, this is IN DETAIL, including neverseen scenes because it happened to MJ, not Peter. FINISHED AT LAST! R
1. Section 1

Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the movie save for watching it over and over. I do not own Spider Man (though I'd like to), Mary Jane, or anyone else.  
  
  
  
SPIDER MAN  
  
FROM THE EYES OF A RED-HAIRED GIRL  
  
Part 1  
  
I will never be certain why I picked that particular day to start this story, but for some reason that day felt like beginning. On that day, I was a regular girl, in a regular school, going on a regular field trip. Nothing was ever special about me; I was Mary Jane Watson, the girl next door to everyone on earth. But let me tell you, my story is not for the close- minded or the weak-willed. My life, on that day, had changed. Nothing will ever be the same again, not for me, not for the city of New York, and especially not for him.  
  
~*~  
  
It had started like any normal day. Well, as normal as days get in New York City, the big apple, the capital of admirable greatness and unspeakable crime. But the city was not my home, although I badly wanted it to be. Although it was filled with terrible things, it also held much opportunity for me. The flashing lights, the wondrous stage. It was nothing like the little town I lived in, which was boring, poor, and run down.  
  
That did not mean everyone in it was poor, mind you. Flash Thompson wasn't. He was... well, everything. He was rich, popular, captain of the football team, and my boyfriend. When it came to girls, he could have had any girl he wanted from the school, but he chose me, and I suppose I had the envy of every female student in the high school senior class, and likely most of the Freshmen, Sophomore, and Juniors, too. That was something to be thankful for, since I didn't have much else. I liked Flash at the time. He had seemed special to me, an escape from my problems and a comfort in the unforgiving world.  
  
On the day of the field trip, he was sitting next to me on the bus, which was crowded with noisy, uptown kids as usual. Flash had offered to drive to the museum in his father's car, but after some deliberation, I declared that I would rather take the bus. So there we were, and although I didn't regret been on the bus, the people around me were rather... bothersome at times.  
  
In front of me was a chubby guy that I never saw again after graduation. His name escaped me at the moment, but the one thing I'll always remember were the spots of jelly on his face from a jam pastry he was eating. Not knowing why, I was watching him with the same fascination a child would give a squashed slug.  
  
Flash put his arm around me, leaned over, and whispered, "you know, baby, we could be cruising in my ride now, instead of stuck here with this sad bunch."  
  
I shrugged the comment off. Flash had a way of putting people down for a habit, and after a while I could ignore it quite easily. "I like been with people," I said, trying to sound affectionate. "It kind of confirms the feeling of been alive."  
  
He laughed dryly and nuzzled my neck. "Brainy Jane, always so philosophical," he said, kissing my ear. At that stage of the relationship, I had given up on trying to get him to listen to me at all. It was like trying to teach a cat to fetch: they can learn but they won't.  
  
Flash was just starting to get cozy when the smacking on the window sounded. I took the chance to push him off a little, just enough so that he wouldn't get mad. A hand was hitting the glass next to the chubby guy and his jam pastry. I didn't even have to check to know who it was, chasing the bus like he did almost everyday for the past four years.  
  
Peter Parker.  
  
Peter was one of, if not THE smarted kid in school. I didn't have any classes with him, mostly because the courses he took I couldn't even pronounce, but I knew him quite a bit. He had lived next to me along with his aunt and uncle since we were both six. With his big glasses and combed- back hair, which contrasted sharply to Flash's poofed-up do, Peter was the ideal image of a class nerd.  
  
"Hey!" He cried desperately. "Stop the bus!"  
  
The chubby guy in front laughed, followed by several more people, including Flash. They loved to torment Peter, everyone did. The poor guy never fought back, and they said it was because he was a wimp, a coward, and couldn't wrestle and old lady. But I wasn't laughing, and I felt different, because deep down I had always thought it was because he would never stoop to their level.  
  
"Tell him to stop, please!" He yelled again, hitting the window some more. He had dropped back a few steps, now hitting the window next to Flash and my seat.  
  
Flash, who had laid off me for the moment, was obviously enjoying every minute of it. "Hey pal!" He yelled to Peter. "Get a horse, huh?"  
  
Some of his buddies that sat a few seats up laughed. I nudge him uncertainly. "Maybe we should tell the driver to stop," I said. "He's already ran a block."  
  
He turned to me with a mischievous look on his face. "Don't worry about it, hon," he said and resumed his course with me. "Little nerd could use a little exercise."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Shush," Flash said as if I was a little kid. "Now, where were we?" and the courtship continued.  
  
Peter was getting tired and I could tell his throat was getting hoarse from the yelling. Someone will help him, I told myself. Someone will tell the driver to stop, or he will stop any second now.  
  
But the laughter continued, and fingers were pointing at him as if he was some sideshow up for entertainment. Another block passed and Peter had dropped nearly to the end of the bus, but he was still following close, yelling desperately.  
  
"Stop the bus, please?" More people laughed.  
  
That was the last straw for me. I pushed Flash off of me, ignoring his protest, and squeezed up the aisle to the driver's side. "Stop the bus!" I cried. "He's been chasing us since Wood Haven Blvd!"  
  
The driver was a fat, middle-aged man that might have been a trucker in his last career, judged by his beer-belly and the like-I-give-a-hell look on his face. He didn't even bother to hide the disappointment on his face when I spoke. Reluctantly, he hit the brakes and a wave of groans rose from the student, annoyed that their fun had been spoiled. I couldn't care less. Holding my head high, I headed back to my spot next to Flash.  
  
"Why'd you do that, baby?" he asked. "The geek probly would've chased us all the way to the museum. Heck, he's such a nerd that I bet he knows a short cut there."  
  
I decided not to dignify that with a response. Not that Flash was interested in one. He was nuzzling me again.  
  
Peter boarded the bus, red-faced and panting. "Sorry I'm late," he said to the driver, who was not even paying attention. Still breathing a little hard, he began to find a seat, but before he even set foot in the aisle, a sandwich wrapper his face. More laughter rose. The poor guy simply kept his eyes down and headed on his way.  
  
Several seats up, Melissa Johnson was sitting alone. Personally, I detested the girl, not because of personal reasons, but because of her actions in general. Melissa was likely as unpopular as Peter was, and had worse fashion sense, but for some incredible reason, she valued herself high above all others. When Peter neared her seat, she set her books down in the empty spot and gave him a holier-than-thou stare. "Don't even think about it," she said.  
  
"You're so lame, Parker!" someone yelled. Peter didn't reply. He never did.  
  
Flash had stopped touching me and was giving Peter a look that I knew all too well. I watched him nod to his buddy up the aisle. Now that I look back on it, I wish I could have had more courage then to stop him.  
  
Peter continued down the aisle as the bus moved. The chubby guy shook his head and mumbled "hmm-mm" around a mouthful of pastry when he came by.  
  
When he nearly my seat, he lifted his gaze from the floor timidly and smiled at me. He had an adorable, boyish smile that was very rarely seen. I liked it, but it was my turn to look down. Flash didn't like Peter, and he liked other guys looking at me even less. The way I saw it, the guy had enough coming to him without Flash giving him and extra beating.  
  
I did see Flash's buddy extended him foot, but it was too late to give warning. Peter tripped, like he had done many times before when various people tripped him. He fell forward but managed to hold himself up at the last second to prevent hitting his face. Guess that move comes with the experience of been tripped so much.  
  
Over the sound of jeers, hoots, and braying laughter, I heard his glasses hit the floor and bounce with crystal "clink".  
  
Every time he fell, it always seemed like he would stay down, but time after time, he would get up again, pick up his glasses, and go along him way.  
  
I admired him even then. I just didn't know it.  
  
~*~  
  
When we arrived at the museum, the students' interest in Peter had worn off. They laughed and talked among each other. He seemed to be thankful that they stopped pestering him and calling him names. The male students, mostly Flash's friends, were acting goofy as usual, tossing a rubber ball between them. Mr. Pettit, the science teacher leading the trip, was not the least bit amused. Sometimes I wondered if that man was ever amused.  
  
"Now remember," he was saying in his usual stern voice. "It is a privilege to be here. We are guests of the science department, let's not have a repeat performance of the planetarium." The ball flew across his face. Mr. Pettit snatched it right out of the air. "Knock it off."  
  
Peter was trailing a few steps behind the group as usual, looking a little lost in his own world. I was considering asking him to join me when Sarah and Michelle appeared behind him, calling my name. I waved to them.  
  
"M.J.!" they cried cheerfully and tugged me along with them toward the museum. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Peter was looking at me with an odd, as if disappointed expression in his eyes.  
  
As we waited at the door for Mr. Pettit to turn in the tickets, a fancy- looking classical car pulled up in front of the museum stairs. Only one person in the school rode in such cars, and when he stepped out, I saw that I was right. It was Harry Osborn, the wealthiest boy in school, perhaps in the entire city. And by some odd coincidence, he was best friends with Peter Parker, a boy who as unpopular as they come and almost as plain as me. But when you think about it, the fact was really not at all surprising. They were both cast-outs, Peter been labeled as a freaky nerd, and Harry labeled as a stuffed-shirt, spoiled brat. Neither was true, but as far as high school was concerned, it might as well be. Perhaps that was what brought them together.  
  
Still speaking with my friends, I watched them out of the corner of my eyes. Harry was a rather good-looking high-class boy, if not a little scatter-brained. Surely enough, a moment later, his father came out of the car and handed him his backpack.  
  
Norman Osborn was an amazing man. As far as my knowledge went, he was the founder of Oscorp Industries. As for what his company did, I couldn't tell. Something with technology or scientific research thing or the other. Peter would probably understand, been the genius that he was.  
  
"M.J.?" I turned my head and saw Sarah look at me. "Did you even hear me?"  
  
"Um, sure," I replied quickly. "Are we going in yet?"  
  
"I think Mr. Pettit screwed up the tickets," she replied, pointing to the ticket booth. I didn't look, however. Mr. Osborn was returning to the car and Harry was talking to Peter as they began to make their way over.  
  
"Parker! Osborn! Let's go!" Mr. Pettit yelled. Apparently whatever difficulties there were with the tickets were solved.  
  
~*~  
  
The tour leader was a lady in her thirties, with the straightest black hair and the most professional, monotonous voice I had ever heard. Before we were even half way through the tour, the students began to show signs of boredom. Flash was putting his arm around me and blowing in my ear when we entered the room containing the spiders.  
  
"No, Flash, stop it," I said softly but hopefully seriously enough, prying his fingers off my neck, but it did little good. I twisted my head to one side, just in time to see Peter turn away. Was he looking at me? It was hard to tell.  
  
"The tree spider, family Sperasedei, has the ability to jump to catch its prey." As if on cue, a small spider contained in the glass case leaped form one branch to the next, with great speed and agility. Most of the student didn't bother to take notice, but I did.  
  
For some reason, the spiders were the only things that fascinated me on the trip. As the tour guide stopped in front of each case, I drifted away from Flash and to the front of the group. It was like the bugs drew me to them. Although their names all sounded like Martian to me, their movement and ability amazed me to great length. This, of course, was something I never expected to share with Flash. He would just call me Brainy Jane again and make light of whatever I was saying.  
  
"Now this spider can predict danger and react to it so fast that the researchers believe it almost bore a precognition ability, a spider sense."  
  
Precognition, in Flash's words, "hocus-pocus". In my words, amazing, simply amazing.  
  
"Next, the Delaina Spider, family Tetratadene, Genus Cukoocania. It spins and tensile web that can sustain substances many times its weight. "  
  
This particular spider was even more intriguing than the previous. It had spun a web that looked like it could break from a weak breeze, and yet, the spider was using it to lift several bugs that had fallen prey, plus a few small twigs. I remember thinking how incredible it was that something so weak could be so durable and strong. Looks can truly deceive.  
  
Some kind of commotion was going on behind me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the spiders long enough to find out what was going. All I managed to catch was Mr. Pettit tell someone if they didn't be quiet, they would fail the course.  
  
"...I kid you not," he was saying. Of course, Mr. Pettit never kidded.  
  
The last exhibition in what I had begun to think of as the spider room was the one that made the deepest impression on me. On a narrow counter, a large glass container was divided into fifteen cells, five across, three down. Inside each was a spider of a species that I had never seen before. Not that I've see many spiders in my time, but these looked quite unique. They were small and agile, and the webs they spun looked stronger than the rest, even the one that was lifting bugs and twigs. One on the corner was hungrily devouring what looked like a fruit fly.  
  
"Disgusting," I mumbled.  
  
"Yeah, I hate fly eaters," a voice said. I turned my eyes and saw who but Harry Osborn standing there, also studying the spiders with a careful eye. Interesting, considering I had never pictured him as the type to be fascinate by bugs.  
  
A smile crept to my face. "I love 'em," I said, turning back to the glass cells, not expecting him to say anymore.  
  
"Yeah, me, too," Harry went on, "you know, some spiders change their colors according to their environment. It's a defense mechanism."  
  
"Really?" I was impressed. I truly was. This was a side of him I had never known before, and probably unknown to the world.  
  
"Yeah, incredible creatures, aren't they?"  
  
"After years, of studying, the scientists have combined the DNA from all three spiders to create these fifteen genetically engineered super spiders."  
  
Super Spider. Sounded like a lame superhero to me. An image of a guy clasped in colorful tights with rubber arms sticking out of his sides came to mine. I had to stifle a giggle as I looked at each section of the container. All the spiders appeared to be similar but different in at least one way such as color and length of legs.  
  
"There's fourteen."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" the tour guide leaned over to inspect the case.  
  
"One's missing," I said, pointing at the empty cell at the center of the container.  
  
"Oh," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess the researchers are working on that one."  
  
And that subject was dropped for now.  
  
Harry was stepping a little closer to me. He pointed to the large machinery in the center of the room and whispered, "Did you know that this is the largest electron microscope on the eastern seaboard?" Not knowing quite what the instrument was, I simply nodded, which was just as well, since Mr. Pettit did not give me time to say anything else. He came up and tapped Harry on the shoulder.  
  
"You talked through that entire presentation," he said warningly. Harry gave me a playful half-smile before walking off.  
  
The group was beginning to scatter from the glass container of the super spiders. They trailed after the tour guide. I probably should have followed, but something about that empty container made me linger. I stood there for an extra minute, simply staring at it, wondering what the researchers could possibly be working on with that particular critter. The single cell seemed lonely by itself, devoid of its occupant. Looking inside it, I was dimly aware that my friends had already left my side.  
  
"Hey," a timid voice said. I twisted my head around and saw Peter standing behind me. He had touched me lightly on the shoulder was immediately drawing his hand back as if afraid he'd done something he shouldn't. "Um, can I take your picture?" he asked in the came careful tone. "I need one with a student in it."  
  
I smiled. Same old Peter, always school business. He's had that camera since, well, I don't know when. It was getting hard to picture him without it, almost as hard as trying to see him without his thick glasses. "Sure," I said, trying to be cheery, hoping it will relax him. "Where do you want me? Here?" I stepped next to the counter on which the super spiders' container was placed.  
  
"Yeah, that's fine." He stepped back and raised his camera.  
  
A giggle escaped me when I saw the ginger, awkward way he was handling it, as if extremely nervous. "Don't make me look ugly," I said laughing.  
  
Peter shrugged with a dazed look on his face. "That's impossible," he said.  
  
And so I posed for him, feeling a little unreal as he clicked off two pictures. Something about the way we were going about this simple task made me feel... beyond myself. I began to act and feel a little silly when he took a few more.  
  
"Perfect," he mumbled as the shutter clicked again.  
  
"M.J.! Let's go!" that was Sarah's voice. I quickly left the counter and went after her. The group was pretty far along the way.  
  
"Wait," Peter said. Had he said it a little louder I might have, but at that moment I wasn't even sure that was what he said. "Thanks," he called.  
  
I caught up with Sarah and was about to tell Peter he was welcome, but when I turned to look at him, he was kneeling on the floor, studying something intently. Mr. Pettit, who had noticed the same thing, made his way back and waved at him. "Peter," he said. "Let's do it."  
  
That was the last I had seen him that day. Although I actually wanted to talk to him a little more, ask if I could see the pictures when they turned out, but Flash was at my side again, sliding his arm around my waist.  
  
"What were you doing back there, baby?" he asked and began to kiss me before I even answered.  
  
"He wanted to take pictures for the yearbook." I replied simply.  
  
"Oh yeah?" Flash had a smug look on his face. "Figures he'd want to use my girl. If he ever got a girl, she'd have a face for radio."  
  
"Flash!" I stopped myself right there. Something caught my attention. Harry was walking a few feet away on the other side of Flash. He cast a glance over and made a face at Flash's back. I tried not to laugh.  
  
"What?" Flash said, looking around. The minute his head turned, Harry looked at the ceiling and whistled. But when he wasn't looking, Harry stuck his tongue out and blew a light raspberry.  
  
"Nothing," I said. 


	2. Section 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: thanks to everyone's support! This was the most reviews I ever got for the first chapter of a story. Now, someone asked in the reviews how many times I've seen the movie since I capture so many details. The answer is... ten. Yeah, yeah, crazy, obsessive, blah blah blah. I have a pirated copy as home so I watched to the point where I could follow like 80% of the lines, and I consulted it constantly for this story. Anyway, thanks again!  
  
DR  
  
Section 2  
  
I was late getting home again.  
  
I'd like to say I had good reasons, but I didn't, unless you count wanting to avoid your parents good reasons. I didn't.  
  
My mother I could stand. All she wanted was for me to be beautiful, charming, and marry rich. Mostly so I don't end up living like her, in a little wooden house with a lump on the couch. The lump would be my stepfather, George. To this day I couldn't understand why my mother ever wanted to marry him. All he ever did was yell at her, and yell at me. In his eyes, I was nothing but a nuisance, unworthy of anything in the world.  
  
Flash took me out for a party after school. It wasn't my kind of thing, but when you're with a guy like Flash, it didn't matter what was your thing and what was not. His birthday was coming up tomorrow and his friends wanted to celebrate. There was alcohol, of course, and smokes, but I took neither. The noise gave me a headache and as the "fun" wore on, it was getting harder and harder to keep a smile plastered on my face as Flash showed me off to his slimy buddies.  
  
Still, I dreaded going home. Nothing was worth and setting foot in that door and smelling the whisky on George's breath and knowing he had a bucket full of nasty comments waiting for me.  
  
At least he never laid a hand on me, to hit or otherwise. For that I was thankful.  
  
When Flash dropped me off at the door, he was drunk, wild and in the mood for action. "You sure you wanna go home, babe?" he asked. "We can go out all night, paint the town red, you and me."  
  
As much as I hated been home, been in a car with Flash when he's in a mood like this was suicide. "No thanks, sweetie," I said tenderly, not feeling tender at all. "I gotta get in before George gets in one of his moods again."  
  
Luckily, he didn't persist, just shrugged. "Your loss, babe." A fog of dust rose as the car drove off, tires screeching.  
  
I was no hurry to go inside. I never was. Instead, I stood on the curb and felt the evening breeze on my skin. The moon was just out, shining in the sky. Not a single cloud was in sight. The street was peaceful in the dark, not like in the day, when the noisy cars passed by and drivers tossed their trash right onto the lawns. No, in the night, there was a light on in each house, making them look like caves of fun-loving goblins, dancing the night away in their own little quarters.  
  
Life bored me. Sometimes I wonder if there's something more out there.  
  
"Mary Jane?" I didn't need to turn to know who that was. Peter's aunt, known to the entire neighborhood as Aunt May including me, was standing on the sidewalk of her house. "Mary Jane Watson, is that you?"  
  
"Hi Aunt May," I said pleasantly, although that was the last thing I felt like. But seeing her helped. Aunt May had a way of making people feel good, just by looking at or listening to her. It was a gift, I supposed.  
  
"What are you doing out here?" Her voice made me calm. Suddenly, everything in the house behind me didn't seem so bad.  
  
"I just got back. The air feels good."  
  
She gazed down the road. "Was that Flash who brought you back?"  
  
I could feel the color on my face and was thankful it was too dark for her to see it. I knew she didn't approve of Flash, not many adults did. "Yes," I said quietly.  
  
Aunt May shook her head. "You didn't go and get in trouble now did you?"  
  
"Um, no."  
  
She took a few steps up and stood next to me. "You know, Mary Jane, you can do so much better."  
  
I sighed. She was right. She was right most of the time, if not all the time. "I like him, I really do," I said, trying to close the subject. What was I supposed to tell her? That I'm only with him to have excuses to get out of the house? That I didn't have the courage to break up with him because of what he might do? Sometimes the truth was best kept hidden.  
  
Aunt May nodded and I felt ashamed. I kept my eyes down, not looking at her.  
  
"Why don't you go in, dear?" she said softly. "It's getting late."  
  
I didn't want to, but I also didn't want to see the caring, worried way she was looking at me. Other kids in my situation would wonder why I cared so much about what she thought. After all, she was not a parent or even a family member. But for me, I was just glad that someone cares. I didn't want to lie to her anymore.  
  
"All right," I nodded. "Good night, Aunt May."  
  
"Good night, dear." I watched her head back to her house before going to mine. At the door, I paused. There was no mistaking the crashing sounds from inside. Taking a deep breath, I inserted the key into its hole.  
  
The door was open. When I walked into the living room, I saw that it was in a bigger mess than usual. The floor was littered with papers and food wrappers and George was slumped on the couch as usual. My mother stood over him, one hand pointing. She straightened up when I came in.  
  
"Where have you been?" she asked.  
  
"I went to a party mom. With Flash." I hated to do it. But mention Flash's name sometimes avoided disaster. Mom liked to see me with rich boys like him.  
  
"You're past curfew, young lady," George snapped.  
  
I tipped my head to one side defiantly. "So? I wasn't that late."  
  
"You're useless! Don't you have anything better to do?"  
  
"Stop yelling at her," my mother shouted. She turned to me. "Now dear. How is Flash?"  
  
"Good."  
  
"Oh good, good. You know, he's such a good boy." It was hard to fight the urge of roll my eyes, but I did anyway. "You two getting along well?"  
  
"Um, yeah, great." Except for the part where I have to be with him. "We went to a party... and he uh... bought me stuff."  
  
George looked at me. "Oh yeah? Think his dad'll lend me some spending money?"  
  
That set something off in me. "I'm not asking him for money," I said through gritted teeth.  
  
He chuckled. It sounded like a slimy gurgle. "Yeah? And what's the point of dating a rich kid if you don't get some dough off of him? You putting out for nothing?"  
  
"I am not 'putting out'!"  
  
"Sure, right. That's what you all say."  
  
There was fire in me and I didn't like it. I didn't like having to argue, especially not with George. It didn't matter who won, because he always thought he did. I hated to act like I did, like an out-of-control kid in rebellion. So on that day I had clamped my jaw shut and turned away.  
  
"I'm going to bed," I announced and walked up the stairs before they had a chance to speak.  
  
"Yeah, run!" George was shouting. "That's all you're good for anyway!"  
  
When I closed the door to my room, the shouting and smashing contest downstairs was already back in progress. Seemed like they fought more and more these days. I flopped onto the bed and buried my face in a pillow, hoping it would drown out all the sounds of my life.  
  
It didn't.  
  
And so I stared at the clock, waiting for time to pass. It was still early, only around ten. Gazing out the window, I saw that most of the other houses still had their lights on. The house next to me, however, was dark, at least the top room. It was Peter Parker's house. Looking out, I wondered if he ever realized that his bedroom window looks directly into mine. If he were anything like Flash, I'd worry, but this was Peter. I never worried about him doing anything out of sorts.  
  
There was no light in his room. Maybe he'd gone to sleep or was downstairs. I didn't know. Around eleven thirty, the shouting diminished, then stopped. Guess they were in bed, or tired, or... making up. No use thinking about it, it would just make me lose sleep.  
  
Pulling the covers over my body, I realized that I still had school cloth on, the very same ones I wore to the museum. But I was too weary and tired to take it off, so I merely slipped off the shoes and slept fully dressed.  
  
That night, I dreamed about spiders.  
  
It was not a nightmare. It was beautiful. I dreamed that I was back at the museum, but I was alone and there were no lights. I stood by the case containing the super spiders and looking in. This time there were fifteen spiders, and they were all active, crawling around in their cages. Each one glowed in the dark with a unique pattern. The one in the center, third column over, second row down, was the most lovely of all. And I could feel its heartbeat, so deeply that it was as if its heart was next to my own.  
  
~*~  
  
When the sun rose, I was already awake and debating whether to get up or stay in bed for the rest of my life. No loss if I did, since life didn't hold much for me anyway. So burying my head in my pillow and just sleeping the day away seemed like the best option.  
  
But when my alarm clock went off, I killed the thought and pushed myself up not without effort. I couldn't escape the day. That wasn't me. If I gave up after such a little ordeal like this I'd have given up on life a long time ago. I sat on the bed for a while, unmoving, and listened. No sound from the terrible two. But I've lived in this place too long to let my guard down like that. So I waited some more. Slowly, slowly, my muscles relaxed.  
  
Warm sunlight was pouring into the open window as I finished changing out of my wrinkled outfit and into a clean top and skirt. Even thought I was not in the mood to primp, I brushed my hair in front of the mirror and felt the morning breeze on my side. For a moment it seemed as if everything was fine and normal, that perhaps my life was not so bleak and meaningless.  
  
Then the crashing came.  
  
The first one was faint and didn't alarm me, but then the second and third followed and was much louder. I grabbed a jacket and headed out the door.  
  
Even before I came down the stairs fully, I saw my mother coming up in front of me. One look at her told me that I'd be making my own breakfast that morning. Not that she made it any other days, she just made it seem as if she did, like pouring a half-glass of expired milk or microwaving a pop tart every now and then. She gave me one hard look and pushed past me to her room.  
  
George appeared as I reached the bottom of the stairwell. Above me, mom's door slammed shut. George looked at me and sneered. It turned me cold inside.  
  
"What happened?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. It wasn't hard, I was used to it.  
  
He belched and I had to control myself to not to waver from the strong smell of liquid on his breath. "Trashy broad," he muttered.  
  
I cast a look upstairs. "Yeah, your mother," George said, as if sensing my question. All that alcohol must give him a few extra senses. "Wouldn't let me touch her this morning." Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded and began to head for the kitchen. He held out an arm and blocked me. "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
The look I gave him was as hard as I could manage. "Kitchen." I replied. "I need to eat and go to school."  
  
George laughed thickly. "School," he said, scratching his chest. "Take my advice, kid, school don't get you anywhere."  
  
I scoffed and pushed his arm aside, but the next thing I knew he grabbed me and shoved his face in mine. My jacket fell onto the floor in a heap. "You're too purty for school," he slurred and I saw that he was so drunk he'd never remember any of this if my mother asked. "How about a little kiss? I didn't get nothin' outta yo mom."  
  
I pushed him away and grabbed my jacket off the floor. "You're drunk, George," I snapped. "Go sleep it off." He planted his hand firmly around my arm and pulled me to him. I kicked him but he didn't seem to feel it. "Get away!" I screamed. "Get away! Get away!"  
  
But if screaming ever worked, the police would be out of work. I felt his meaty hand around my neck, pinching the skin, and sliding down to the neckline of my shirt. The movement really didn't bother me as much as if should, since Flash had done it plenty of times, but the way he looked at me, the hungry gaze he gave me made me sick and disgusted, with both him and myself. I jerked loose and punched him in the eye.  
  
Of course it didn't hurt him. It couldn't have. My hand was shaking too badly to do any damage. But it did enough. He was stunned, more from surprise than pain. Quickly, I put on my thin jacket, as if it offered any protection, and headed out the door, snatching my bag in the process.  
  
I didn't feel the heat stinging my eyes until I was off the front steps. The door slammed as George chased out, probably not giving up, but I didn't want to look back. I didn't want him to see that he had made me cry. It was satisfy him.  
  
"You're trash!" he shouted after me. "You're all trash! Just like her!"  
  
"I have to go to school!" there were tears in my voice, but perhaps that's what sent him back. He didn't like weepy girls, didn't think they were any good.  
  
"Ah, who's stopping ya." I could hear him go back into the house.  
  
Sometimes I really hated life.  
  
~*~  
  
The sounds of New York streets usually gave people headaches. All the honking and shouting could drive almost anyone up the wall. But to me, any noise to help me escape my own thoughts was fine. And so as I walked down the dirty little sidewalk to the bus stop, I hung my head and simply let the sounds drown out my inner sobs.  
  
The day was rather warm, but I wrapped the jacket around my body tightly with my arms. Any warmth I could cling to felt good. There were times I wondered if that's the reason I was with Flash as all, no matter how cheap and slimy and insincere his warmth was. The echo of my boot on the pavement was rather melodic so I concentrated on them. Click. Click. Click. They reminded me of the hands on a clock.  
  
When I got to the bus stop, I suddenly realized that I did not want to get on the bus at all, simply because there would be people there, most of whom I was not in the mood to deal with, such as Flash and his obnoxious buddies.  
  
I must have looked extremely dumb standing there, looking down at the ground, grinding the toe of my shoe on the sidewalk, debating whether to wait for the bus and deal with the chaos or walk to school and be late, which meant I would have to deal with Mr. Pettit. It was funny sensation, feeling time oiling by.  
  
"Hey MJ!" I looked up and felt a faint smile on my face. A dark-colored convertible was parked on the street not far from me, with Michelle at the wheel and Sarah next to her in the passenger seat. "I got the car today," Michelle cried cheerily. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."  
  
Sarah and Michelle to the rescue, I thought as I climbed into the backseat.  
  
Sarah turned around from the front and faced me as the car took off at a probably unsafe speed. "You look down, MJ," she said. "What's wrong?"  
  
I opened my mouth, wanting to tell, but closed it again. I looked at Sarah, then Michelle, and knew that they would never be able to share my problems. They were high-society girls, not that it made them bad people, just different. We were all good friends, after all, but every time I saw their designer blouses and name brand bags, I knew that we were from different worlds and would forever be.  
  
They were beautiful, well-dressed, and well-raised ladies, and to Plain Jane, that's rather out of reach. A single look at them would show people that they were happy and carefree, and they were. So why burden them with my problems?  
  
I smiled instead. "Nothing's wrong." I said evenly. "Just tired, I guess."  
  
Sarah giggled. "Flash wore you out last night?"  
  
The smiled kept. "Yeah, I suppose so."  
  
When she turned back without any more questions, I was relieved. On the way to school, I turned back once and saw the school bus in the distance behind us. I wondered for a moment if Peter made it on there today.  
  
~*~  
  
Cafeteria food.  
  
I sometimes wondered if cafeteria food played a much bigger role in public education than intended, like weakening our wills with its horrid bland taste or keeping us in malnutrition so we wouldn't run away. Either way, the greasy burger and limp fries on my tray kept looking less and less appetizing. Maybe I can dump the milk into a jello bowl later and see if it would float. I could call it a science project.  
  
A finger snapped in front of my face. I jerked my head up, startled. Flash was standing there, one hand held in front of me. "Yo babe, you dead?" he asked.  
  
I grinned, although not feeling it. "No, I'm good." I said, keeping my attitude upbeat.  
  
"Yeah? Good." He jerked his thumb behind him. "Me and the guys got a table back there. Come join us when you're done serenading the desserts."  
  
I nodded but he had already turned and walked off with his own tray. A sigh escaped my lips as I moved down the lunch line. What do you know? They did have jello for dessert. I put a bowl with a green lump in it on my tray and headed for Flash's table.  
  
He was already there, of course, chatting up a storm with his friends. If you could them friends at all, all they do was borrow money and pretend to laugh at his pathetic jokes. I'd have bet that if someone replaced those goons with a couple of rocks and a laugh track and Flash would never notice.  
  
Mustering every ounce of willpower left in me, I walked toward them, trying to show confidence in my posture. No need to let them know what was on my mind.  
  
Or who...  
  
Half way across the cafeteria, I noticed the small figure of Peter Parker sitting alone with his back to Flash's table. He was eating his french fries methodically one at a time, dipping them in a lot of ketchup, but to me it seemed as if he didn't taste them at all, or even bothered to try. A glazed, concentrated look was on his face, as if he had something more interesting on his mind than school and limp fries.  
  
For some reason the sight of him made me relax, not the fact that he looked almost as pathetic as I felt, but something about Peter's presence always gave me a soothing sensation. As I passed him, a smile crept to my face and he looked up a little, as if noticing and I suddenly saw that something was different about his face.  
  
Perhaps if I hadn't tried to look closer, I would've seen the huge puddle on the floor. 


	3. Section 3

Section 3  
  
By the time I felt my foot fly out from under me, it was too late. I had stepped on the puddle heel first and my body suddenly lost control. A small shriek escaped me. It was one of those times when you knew what was happening but simply had it let it happen because there was nothing you could do about it. My head swung back and my feet went forward. I saw my lunch tray soar upward, throwing everything into the air. For a split second it was pretty cool, watching all the objects freeze for a second in space, then as it all began to come down, including me, I wondered how much this would hurt.  
  
Then I stopped.  
  
I was falling, but something stopped me half way. I blinked and saw Peter leaning over me. He had caught me on his arm and knee. His eyes froze on me for a second before turning. Like magic, I watched him catch the tray with his other hand, right side up, and receive all the food perfectly as they came down.   
  
"Thump," the food plate "thump," the milk "thump," the jello, still in its bowl.   
  
It all happened in a space of maybe two seconds.  
  
"Wow," I breathed. "Great reflexes. Thanks."  
  
Peter looked at me, then back at the tray on his hand, as if equally surprised by what he's done. He grinned as me sheepishly. "You're welcome."  
  
His smile made me see what was different about his face. His glasses were missing. For the first time since moving in next to him, I saw his features as a whole, without the thick spectacles in the way. For reasons unknown, it felt like seeing a few face and an old friend at the same time.  
  
"Hey, you have... blue eyes," I said, suddenly feeling stupid, half sitting on his lap and staring at his face with a stupid grin on mine. "I didn't notice without your glasses. Did you just get contacts?"  
  
Peter looked at me for a moment, probably wondering what I was babbling on about. I felt a little embarrassed as he smiled at me again, and wondered if he was humoring me. "Well... thanks," I mumbled and decided not to embarrass myself any further by taking my tray and continuing on my way.  
  
As I slumped down at Flash's table, I realized two things. One, the stupid grin was still on my face, as if it had taken on a life of its own. Two was that my heart rate was raising, alone with the heat on my face. All of a sudden I remembered the way he was looking at me when he first caught me. It was only for a second, but there was a hard, intense look that I had never seen before.   
  
I caught a feet over Flash's shoulder at Peter. He was hunched over again, examining something on his table. Was it all my imagination? It was hard to tell. Most likely there was nothing and I just made something out of it.  
  
I shook my head and stabbed a plastic fork into the jello. Plain Jane has knocked her head and lost a few marbles. But still...   
  
"Hey babe," Flash reached across the table and nudges me on the chin. He knew I hated it, but like that ever mattered. "Sure took your time."  
  
"Yeah, Flash. I did." I said, more pointedly than I had intended. My mind was still on the incident a few moments ago. I didn't notice without your glasses?! What was I thinking?  
  
"You're sure upbeat today." He leaned over closer, making his intent clear.  
  
"Not now, Flash, I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Oh come on, just a little kiss will cheer you right up..." Flash reached for my arm. His buddies had stopped talking amongst themselves and were watching with interest.  
  
That was when the lunch tray crashed into his head.  
  
It came behind with no warning and smashed right onto the back of his neck. Whoever threw it had a lot of nerve and my gratitude. I had to hold both hands up to my mouth not to laugh as the macaroni and tomato sauce smeared into his perfectly greased hair and down his shoulders. His mouth opened in anger and surprise as he slowly took a look at himself and stood up.  
  
A commotion rose in the cafeteria as people began to stand up and in the center of their attention was none other than Peter. When I finally got a good look at him over the many heads, he was already walking away and... somehow towing the lunch tray behind him. The room was abuzz with voices.  
  
"Look at that..."  
  
"What'd he do..."  
  
"That's so weird..."  
  
Flash was on his feet and staring after Peter with anger. "Parker?" he mumbled and right away the smile vanished from my face. I knew that tone. There was trouble ahead. I jumped up as the cafeteria doors closed after Peter. But the lunch tray he was... towing... was stuck and laughter burst out from the gathering crowd.   
  
"The nerve of that freak!" Flash shouted and charged after him in big steps. Immediately, the other students followed.   
  
"Wait, Flash!" I cried but my voice was drowned out by the exited murmur of the student body.  
  
"Oh man, this is gonna be great," I heard one of Flash's buddies say. I was tempted to turn around and yell in his face to shut up but Flash was nearly out of sight. Desperately, I pushed myself to the front of the crowd and into the halls.  
  
The first thing I saw was Flash's fist flying into the back of Peter's head. My hands flew to my mouth to cover up the scream that never made it out. Peter dodged aside agilely and stepped back as fast as possible. Flash's attack put a dent into his locker. The taller boy swung around and the two faced.  
  
"You think you're pretty funny don't you freak?" He said dangerous.  
  
Suddenly noticing how many people were behind me waiting to see the fight that was certainly going to take place, I picked up my pace toward the scene. "Flash, it was just an accident!" I said, knowing it would do no good.  
  
Flash didn't even look at me. His angry gaze was still on Peter. "My fist breaking your teeth, that's the accident."  
  
Peter took another step back and kept his eyes on the other carefully. "I don't wanna fight you, Flash," he said, much more calmly than most people who had come face to face with Flash like this.  
  
Flash sneered. "I wouldn't wanna fight me neither." He held up his fists in a fighting posture and I felt my heart leap to my throat. Peter was going to get pounded flat in three hits. And then what? I suddenly wished I had stayed in bed this morning.  
  
"Flash, please..." but the first punch was already thrown. I half expected to see blood fly as the huge fist went for Peter's face. But he dodged. Luck, perhaps. Flash was surprised. He punched again.  
  
Now it was no longer luck. Peter dodged another punch, this time to the other side. A circle of spectators had formed around the two and watching with shock. I was among them, not believing my eyes. Flash kept coming, but Peter was not fighting back, or even moving his feet. He bent this body this way and the other, keeping himself just inches out of Flash's reach, as if already knowing where the next punch would land. It was like watching a graceful acrobat dance with an angry animal.  
  
Flash was angry. With a shout, he threw all his might into Peter and charged at him. My heart leaped, certain that this would be it.  
  
But it wasn't. Peter suddenly leaned back, so impossibly far that for a moment we were looking at each other. His back was parallel to the ground but he was still on his feet. Flash stumbled forward and nearly fell as Peter snapped back up again and got out of the way.  
  
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Harry Osborn come up to my side. No matter how badly he did in math class, it didn't take long for him to see what was going on. Flash had now turned with his back to us, facing Peter. One of his buddies was circling around behind Peter and preparing a sneak attack.  
  
"Help him, Harry!" I cried and tugged on Harry's shirt. Peter was outnumber and this could not possibly turn out well for him. Harry hesitated for a split second and in that little space of time, Flash's buddy charged.  
  
What happened next was too unreal. The moment before contact was made, wimpy, nerdy Peter Parker leaped upward, somersaulted in midair, and landed on his feet. The other boy stumbled into Flash. The three stood looking at each other, all equally shocked in the center of a gasping audience.   
  
Harry started for a moment. "Which one?" he asked me.  
  
Flash's buddy cocked his head like a confused chicken then patted Flash on the shoulder. "He's all yours, man." He was shoved aside unceremoniously.  
  
Flash was truly enraged now, but the tables seemed to have turned. People were no longer expecting a bloodbath, but were watching with amusement, waiting for an unexpected outcome as Flash began to throw punches faster at Peter.  
  
Peter began to block the punches, defending himself with deadly precision. Suddenly, his gaze hardened and as Flash's punch came at him, he raised his hand and caught Flash by the wrist. A rumble of voices came from the students as Peter bend Flash's hand back in what looked like a very painful posture. A few girls gasped. Flash's face was twisted no longer in anger but in pain.  
  
Then Peter punched him. Just once. The students barely had the time to clear out of the way as Flash flew like a rag doll down the hall, where he slid into the feet of a teacher carrying a tray of food. The teacher shook but did not fall. The tray in his hand, however, came tumbling down right into Flash's face.   
  
What do you know, macaroni again.  
  
Laughter echoed in the hall as the kids began to scatter slowly, either to go about their business or to examine the survivors of battle. I was frozen in place, unsure of what I had seen. I turned and faced Peter.  
  
He was still standing the way he did after throwing the punch, one arm extended, and breathing a little hard. He looked at me for a moment and slowly retained his posture before looking around, looking stunned. I simply stared at him, knowing that it probably wasn't polite, but I wasn't the only one doing it.  
  
Flash's buddy gave him a disgusted look. "Jesus, Parker," he said as he went to help his friend. "You are a freak."  
  
"Peter..." that was Harry's voice. "That was amazing."  
  
There was a moment of silence as I still stood in place, looking at Peter carefully. He looked at me, then at Harry, and without warning, turned and ran out of the school. Harry turned to me, shrugged, and chased after him. "Peter! Wait!"  
  
Flash had gotten to his feet and wiping the second helping of tomato sauce off his chest. Suddenly he looked extremely pathetic to my eyes, like a once-proud and dominant wolf with its tail cut off. Students who squeezed past him in the hall kept their distances far and their voices low, but it was easy to see the color rose to his face as they pointed and snickered to themselves.  
  
I couldn't help it anymore. As Flash got a hold of himself and stumbled down the hall, I ran off in the opposite direction, found the nearest girl's room, and pushed my way in. Once inside, I found the first empty stall and locked the door behind me.  
  
Then I laughed.  
  
~*~  
  
When my hysterics passed, the bell for the afternoon classes was already ringing. I wanted to wait until the halls were clear before going to class, but decided that with more people around, it would be easier to avoid Flash. So I pulled the bathroom door open a crack, made sure he wasn't in sight, and stepped out carefully. A hand on my shoulder almost made me jump.  
  
"Hey M.J." It was Harry. He took his hand off when he saw me start. "Have you seen Peter?"  
  
I breathed heavily out of relief, seeing that it was not Flash, and shook my head. "No, didn't you find him?"  
  
Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "No. I looked all over the school. Maybe he ran off somewhere."  
  
"Why would he do that?"  
  
He shrugged. "Maybe he's afraid Flash would beat him up or something."  
  
For some reason the thought made me chuckle. "Flash? After that little performance he's afraid FLASH would beat HIM up?"  
  
"He's a weird guy. Who knows?" Harry looked around briefly. "So, um, why are you with him anyway?"  
  
I sighed. "Flash? I've wondered that myself."  
  
His voice dropped a little. "Why don't you break it off with him? His life peaked, like, three weeks ago."  
  
I took a step back and found I was speechless.  
  
He didn't seem to notice. "Come on, girl like you, guy like that? I mean... whoa!" I saw it coming way before he did, but it was too late to warn him anyway. Harry was yanked backward by the collar and found himself face to face with a very angry Flash.  
  
"You pushing up on my girl, rich boy?"  
  
Harry blinked. "Uh..."  
  
I rolled my eyes. Great. Just great. "Flash, let him go."  
  
Flash looked at me, then at Harry. For a moment I was worried that Harry would walk out of here with a broken something, but Flash dropped him. Quickly, Harry strolled past me and down the hall. I watched him disappear into the crowd. Flash wrapped one arm around me and I noticed that he had cleaned the mess off of himself. Well, most of it. That huge red stain in the front of his shirt was gonna be hard to get rid of.  
  
He planted a slobbery kiss on me. "Wanna skip the rest of the day and go celebrate my birthday?"  
  
As if nothing happened, I thought. "No. Not today. Maybe after school."  
  
Flash tilted my face to his forcefully. "Come on, baby," he said. "First Parker now you? This is not a very happy birthday for me. You know, he almost gave me a black eye." There was a little bit of warning in his voice and I did catch on to it.  
  
Carefully, I removed his arm from my shoulder. "You should feel lucky he didn't," I said calmly. "Sorry, Flash. We'll do anything you want tonight, OK? I have to go to class now. I have a quiz."  
  
That put a smile on his face. "Anything?"  
  
"Not that."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
I made my way down the hall without turning back. There was no desire in my heart to see the smug look on his face that indicated he had won. He loved to win. He always did. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of George and that made me sick.  
  
~*~  
  
I bombed the quiz.  
  
I knew I did because my mind kept wondering all throughout it. Most of it was thinking about the fight during lunch. Something about Peter lingered on my mind but I couldn't quite put a finger on it. Perhaps it was the calm way he handled things compared to Flash's brute strength. Faced with a stronger opponent, he didn't back down or even panic. And where exactly did he go? Vanish into thin air.  
  
The pencil switched from one hand to the other. I didn't even think to write something down. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. As time passed, I began to dread the bell, because it would mean that I'd have to leave school, go home, wait for Flash, and do "anything he wants".  
  
But at last, the bell did ring. Feeling deflated, I gathered my things and headed out the room with my head down. A body stepped into my way. I looked up and got ready to tell Flash to get out of the way, but instead I was staring into Harry's face.  
  
"Hi." He said, a little awkwardly.  
  
His nervous expression made me smiled. "Aren't you afraid Flash will pound on you again?" I joked.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Um, I figured if Peter could beat him up, you know, I shouldn't have anything to worry about."  
  
I nodded. He was kind of cute, in an ignorant rich boy sort of way. "So... why are you here? Were you waiting for me? Or someone else?"  
  
He looked at me, then swung his head around quickly in all directions, obviously looking for Flash, and turned back to me again. "Can I give you a ride home?"  
  
This time I shook my head. "No thanks. I can take the bus." I began to walk past him. "See you later."  
  
He hurried in front of me so quickly that he almost tripped over his own feet. "Wait, wait," his hands were held up in a rather comical fashion. "Uh, can I walk you to the bus?"  
  
This was interesting. I considered saying no, but the way Harry was looking at me made me feel... new. I didn't want to get his hopes up if he had intended for this to lead anywhere, but... I really wanted a break away from Flash.  
  
"Alright."  
  
He smiled. "Great." 


	4. Section 4

Section 4  
  
When I got off at the bus stop, my mood was halfway decent, perhaps even close to good. But when the silhouette of my house appeared in the distance, any optimism I had in me deflated like a balloon. An image of George, sweaty, smelly, with liquor on his breath floated to my mind, and I wasn't in the mood to handle it all over again if he tried to get fresh with me. So instead of going to home, I began to walk around the block.  
  
Walking felt good. It gave me a chance to think, to reflect on the day, the month, the year, even my life. Not that there was much to reflect on. I've lived in this neighborhood since I was six, by logic I should know every nook and cranny of it, but the truth was, I barely knew the next three streets, or even the three houses to either side of mine besides Peter's.  
  
Peter. I briefly wondered whatever happened to him.  
  
Several circles later around the block, the sun began to show signs of waning. I decided to head in, not because I wanted to, but because the New York streets at night were no place for a girl alone, even in the suburbs. But when I reached the front of my house, I noticed that there was a car, a fairly stylish one, parked in front of it. The figure inside looked familiar. Carefully, I walked up and tapped on the passenger's window.  
  
It rolled down and I almost laughed. At the wheel was Harry Osborn, looking a little embarrassed. He leaned over to my side and smiled. "...hi?"  
  
I propped myself on the window frame. "What are you doing here? Spying on me?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
A chuckled escaped me. "You know, I thought you rich people had more of a social life."  
  
He shrugged. "What social life? Wait, did you just get back?"  
  
It was my turn to feel awkward. "Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Didn't you take the bus?"  
  
"Yes, but..." I stood up straight and folded my arms, suddenly feeling defensive. "I wanted to walk a little."  
  
Harry looked past me at my house, then back at me. "You better go in, it's getting late. I actually stopped by to see if Peter was back."  
  
"Is he?"  
  
"No," he shook his head. "His aunt and uncle went out, too. Maybe he came back and they went out together, I donno."  
  
I gazed at the dark interior of Peter's house. "Do you want me to tell him you stopped by if he comes back?"  
  
He waved the idea off. "Nah, don't bother. I'll call him later. Aren't you going in?"  
  
"I will."  
  
Harry nodded. "OK, see you at school then. Bye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
I stood in the shadows on the doorstep for a long time after he drove off, out of sight. Seemed like I did that more and more these days. Just standing at the door, dreading what's behind it. Right when I mustered up enough courage to go inside, a light came on at Peter's house. For some odd reason, I was very relieved, much more than I had expected, and suddenly, whatever was in the house didn't seem so bad anymore.  
  
I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong.  
  
The moment I entered the house, I had to suppress the urge to turn and run back out. The whole house looked as if a tornado hit it, followed by a buffalo stampede. There were papers and cloth and broken things everywhere. An empty beer bottle rolled down the hall and stopped at my foot. I backtracked its path with my eyes and found myself looking into the kitchen.  
  
The sink was piled with dirty dishes and the floor was a mess. George was sitting at the table, drinking a bottle of beer. My mother was standing in the corner, smoking a cigarette and staring into space. It had been a long time since my mother smoked. Before I could open my mouth, she spotted me and smiled forcefully.  
  
"Mary, you're back." Her voice sounded raspy from the smoke. "Flash called. Said he'll be picking you up later."  
  
I nodded. "Fine. Thanks, mom." I headed upstairs before she could say anymore about what a "good boy" Flash was.  
  
In my room, I took off the tight top and boots and changed into more comfortable cloth. As I searched through my closet, I noticed an old trench coat hanging to the side. Something possessed me to put it on, perhaps it was the memory of promising "anything you want" to Flash.  
  
"Crash!"  
  
I had planned to stay in my room until Flash showed up, but the sound of glass striking concrete changed my mind. Quickly, not without a sense of dread, I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen once again.  
  
George was standing up, a broken plate at his foot, obviously his handiwork. My mother was still smoking her cigarette, looking as if she didn't notice at all.  
  
"Mom..." I started but was silenced with a wave of her hand.  
  
"Go to your room, Mary."  
  
"But mom..."  
  
George glared at me. "Go to your room." He took a step toward me but the stagger in his step told me he was drunk again and probably barely knew what he was saying at all.  
  
I still don't know what gave me the nerve to do what I did next; maybe it was the sight of that disgusting bottle in his hand. Unshaken by his angry stare, I marched up to him and snatched the bottle out of his palm. He was either too drunk or too surprised to stop me. Blankly, he stood there watching as I walked up to the sink and poured the contents right over the dirty dishes. The sound of the liquid floating down the drain was rather satisfying.  
  
For a moment they both stared at me. Then George, with a roar, charged forward, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me. "What the hell?!" he shouted. "What the hell did you think you're doing?!"  
  
I pushed him off. "Don't touch me!" I screamed back. I was actually very frightened of what he might do to me, but it was too late to turn back.  
  
My mother looked at me with surprise. "Mary Jane..."  
  
George cut her off, still staring at me. "That was my booze, woman!" He shouted. "You dumped my booze!"  
  
I folded my arms. "So what? You probly got enough stashed to drain the Nile and refill it."  
  
"Who the hell is Nile?"  
  
"It's a river, George! One of the many you could be drowning in right now!"  
  
I could've sworn I saw fire in that man's eyes. It shook me but not enough. "That's it, get out!"  
  
"Don't you think I WOULD if I had anywhere to go?!"  
  
My mother had taken a step toward us, her cigarette fell on the counter but she didn't seem to notice. "Stop yelling," she demanded.  
  
George gave her a look hard enough to send her back into her corner. "Shut up!"  
  
I pushed him. "Don't yell at her, her jerk!"  
  
He turned back and I immediately regretted it. This was it, I was convinced that he would kill me on the spot. "I'll send her straight to hell if I want to, you..."  
  
"She's already there, she married you!"  
  
A large hand grabbed my shoulder and squeezed, so hard that it felt like a steel clamp. I had to bite my lip not to cry out. It hurt so badly. Just when I thought I could take no more, it loosened. I backed away, looking up. My mother had slapped George, pretty hard too. Now they were staring each other down.  
  
"Don't you ever lay a hand on my daughter," she said sternly.  
  
George actually seemed to be backing down a little. He sighed. "Go do the damn dishes, woman," he said.  
  
"You do them, you got them dirty!"  
  
It went on like that, but I didn't want to stick around for more. Taking the opportunity, I slipped out the backdoor and slammed it behind me. As the night air surrounded me once more, I suddenly noticed that someone was there. It was Peter, standing on the other side of the metal fence that served as the only separation between our houses. All at once I felt ashamed.  
  
"Were you listening to that?" I asked, feeling sad and embarrassed.  
  
He looked a little embarrassed. "Uh, I heard, but I was just, you know," he pointed at the trash can behind him, "taking out the trash.  
  
Humiliation welled up in me. "I guess you can always hear us."  
  
He took a step closer to the fence and shrugged. "Well, everybody shouts."  
  
Not like us. "Your aunt and uncle don't."  
  
Peter laid one arm on the fence, as if trying to find a comfortable position. "They can shout pretty good sometimes." There was a moment of silence between us. Somehow, I felt myself calm down a lot, just standing there with him. I walked slowly toward him. "Listen, M.J., today at school, with Flash..." he trailed off.  
  
"You really freaked us out."  
  
"I'm sorry," he said quickly and looked down a bit. "Is he OK?"  
  
Yes, unfortunately. "He's just glad you didn't give him a black eye for graduation." Peter didn't say anything. Maybe it was a touchy subject. Suddenly, I felt like talking to him, just talking, about anything at all. It felt good. "So where are you going after you graduate?"  
  
He met my eye. "I want to move into the city," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe get a job as a... photographer. Work my way through college..." He shifted his weight, looking a little nervous. "What about you? What are you doing?"  
  
"I want to move into the city, too," I replied. A sigh escaped me. "Can't wait to get out of here. I want to..." I stopped and shifted my gaze from him. This was not something I told people very often. In fact, it was not anything I tell people at all.  
  
He smiled. "What?" I didn't answer. "Oh come on, you can trust me."  
  
Somehow, I knew that was true. If I could trust anyone, it was probably him. "I want to act." I said, knowing that if there were more light, he'd see the color on my face. "On stage."  
  
Peter's eyes lit up. "That's perfect!"  
  
His somewhat childish excitement brought a smile to my face. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah! You're awesome in all the school plays!" he babbled on. "I cried like a baby when you played Cinderella."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Peter, that was in first grade."  
  
"Well... even so," his expression turned serious. Suddenly, he seemed very mature, and very strong. "Sometimes you know people, and you see what's coming for them."  
  
The world felt very quiet, as if there were only the two of us. The chaos in the house seemed far away. "What do you see coming for you?"  
  
He hesitated. "I don't know," he said. "Whatever is it, it's something I never felt before."  
  
"And... what for me?" I noticed that he wasn't wearing his glasses again. His eyes were so blue.  
  
"You? You're gonna light up Broadway."  
  
I took another step toward him. He looked bigger, or maybe it was just the moonlight. "You know..." I said slowly. "You're taller than you look."  
  
His expression didn't change. "I hunch."  
  
My head shook slowly. "Don't."  
  
A car horn honked and broke into the peaceful moment. I turned and saw Flash at the end of the driveway, waving at me.  
  
"Hey baby!" he called. "Come take a ride in my new birthday present." It was then that I noticed the brand new sports car next to him. Right away I felt annoyed but what was I to do?  
  
"I gotta go," I said to Peter, regretfully. He nodded. Then, plastering a smile to my face, I ran down the driveway toward Flash. "Oh my gosh it's gorgeous!" I shrieked, feeling like a dumb bimbo and not even taking much notice at the car at all.  
  
"Yeah, ain't it?" he said proudly and opened the door for me. "Don't scratch up the leather."  
  
As we drove off with the tires screeching, I kept a happy look on my face, but inside, my heart fell all the way to the ground. All through the night, I kept thinking about Peter, the quiet moment we had just talking to each other, and what might have been if Flash hadn't shown up when he did.  
  
~*~  
  
The car was parked on the top of ShavenWood Hill, a small street corner that was also known as Make Out Lane to the Midtown High School. It was dark and there were two other cars parked a couple of yards away, both shaking visibly, indication the motions inside. Flash put his arm around me and blew in my ear softly.  
  
"You look hot tonight, babe," he said, kissing my cheek.  
  
"Thanks." I was staring straight ahead, not even attempting to respond to him, but he didn't seem to notice. The night air was chilly and filled with the odors of motor oil and cigarette smoke. The alley was so low amidst the tall, broken buildings that little of the sky could be seen. No stars, no moon, just the city noise and the rancid smells mixed with Flash's cologne.  
  
Real romantic.  
  
Then again, what's romance got to do with Flash?  
  
I was trying not to cough from the dust from the streets as he wrapped both arms around me and began to nibble on my neck. Forcing a smile, I pretended to like it.  
  
"About time, babe," he mumbled from under my hair as I kissed him back stiffly. "I thought you zoned out on me."  
  
"No, I guess I'm... a little tired."  
  
"Better perk up, I'm just getting started." He had a sleazy look on his face as he bit my neck, a little harder.  
  
I pushed him off. "No, Flash. Don't."  
  
He straightened a bit but kept his arms around me. "What's the matter? Hmm?"  
  
"I just..." Unconsciously, my hands pulled the coat I still had on tighter. "I don't want a hickey."  
  
A dry laugh came from him. "What, are you saving it for marriage, brainy Jane?"  
  
Immediately, I wanted to go home. Or not home, just away somewhere. "No, I just..."  
  
He stopped me with a hard kiss on my lips. "You talk too much."  
  
I turned my face away. "Please take me home, Flash."  
  
The arms around me moved away and I mentally sighed with relief. For a while we just sat there, staring ahead, then just when I thought I couldn't take the silence anymore, he grabbed my hand.  
  
"Flash, what are you..."  
  
He held a finger up to my lips and shushed me. Then, a little dramatically, he took off his class ring and placed it on my finger. I looked at him in surprise. He smiled. "You know," he said, "lots of girls at school would give a lot for the honor to wear my ring."  
  
My mouth felt dry. "I... I know."  
  
Flash's hand went to my face and tilted my chin upward. "Just so you know," he kissed me, "you mean a lot to me."  
  
My heart pounded and suddenly I felt guilty. So many words welled up in a second then disappeared just as quickly. Was I wrong about him? Was I wrong to merely think of him as a way to get out of the house? Did I misjudge him? Did he really care for me as more than a trophy girlfriend?  
  
The ring felt both warm and cold against my skin.  
  
I did let him give me a hickey that night. 


	5. Section 5

Section 5  
  
The ring around my finger.  
  
I kept twiddling it, turning it round and round. It was too big for my hand, too loose, but I took special care not to lose it. Every time I looked at it, it raised a thousand questions, none of which I had the answer to.  
  
Flash had never meant anything to me before, just an excuse to get out of the house, nothing more, and from the way he treated me, it seemed like he felt the same way. I was his shy, redheaded girlfriend, one that was cute enough to show off to his buddies, but not worth much else. But this ring, and what he said to me changed everything. Did he actually care?  
  
Or was it something else?  
  
I hated to think that about anyone, but Flash did not have the most pure reputation around campus, and I couldn't help but think that he could have some other motive behind it.  
  
Still... If it was true, it was nice to know he cared.  
  
I sat on my bed with the door to my room closed, and simply played with the ring, turning the questions over and over in my head. Suddenly, I realized what a big part Flash had played in my high school life. He was the longest I'd ever gone out with anyone, and with the little money I had, he bought me most of the things in my room, although I often told him not to. The stuffed animals on the floor, the pretty mirror on the wall, many of the clothes in the closet, even the more expensive school supplies like the graphing calculator for math class. I had always been grateful, but each time I offered to pay him back, I knew that he wanted something else in return.  
  
Feeling ever so confused, I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, the ring still on my finger. Graduation was in exactly two weeks and after that, who knows? I had always planned that Flash and I would break up automatically, no loss on either side, but now...  
  
"What do I do?" I asked the ceiling, almost expecting to get an answer. Someone knocked on my door. I didn't even bother to sit up or look toward it. "Come in, mom."  
  
The door opened slowly and just as I expected, my mother walked in. George never bothered to knock, or come to my room, for that matter. She looked weary and the bags under her eyes seemed deeper than ever. Instead of coming to me, she stood at the door and spoke from there, which meant she didn't intend to stay long. She had a lit cigarette in one hand. "You going out any time today, Mary?" she asked.  
  
I kept staring at the ceiling. "I don't know." The clock radio next to my bed said 4:46 p.m. "Why? You want me to, mom?"  
  
She took a long drag from the cigarette and blew smoke out slowly. "Just thought maybe you could drop by the house next door. You know, that Parker house."  
  
"Why would I want to do that?" Something about her tone made me uneasy. I propped myself up on my elbows and studied her carefully.  
  
"Thought you could comfort that boy of theirs a little. Aunt May, too." Another drag from that annoying cigarette. She stared off into space, not at me, but at a spot past me. "'Cause lord knows I ain't good at that stuff. But still, we need to be neighborly. They're such nice people, you know."  
  
"What happened?" Suddenly tense, I sat up.  
  
"I got a call from May. She was real sad. Her husband got shot last night, carjacker." That hit me much harder than I had expected. The first thing that occurred to me as the news sank in was Peter, how he must be handling it. Just a few nights ago I was talking to him out back. He was so calm and collected, but now... things have changed so quickly. All at once I ached to talk to him. "I tried the best I could, but you know how I am, not exactly the sentimental type. So I was thinking..." Another drag. "You could..."  
  
But I was already out the door and heading down the stairs. My mother stood at the top of the stairwell and shouted down, "walk lightly, George's taking a nap!"  
  
Just for that, I slammed the door extra loud.  
  
~*~  
  
It was Aunt May who answered the door when I knocked. One look at her sad composure and teary eyes nearly broke my heart. She invited me in with a smile, but it was not a smile without effort.  
  
"Aunt May..." I said hesitantly. "If you're not up for company, I should go..."  
  
She put one shaky hand over my arm gently. "Don't worry, dear," she said, obviously trying to appear cheery. "I'm glad you're here. Come in, please."  
  
I followed her into the living room and sat across from her on the sofa. She didn't speak and kept looking down, as if trying to keep her tears from flowing. Nervousness overcame me and I found that I couldn't take. Finally, after several minutes, I spoke up. "Aunt May," she looked up. "I heard from my mother. She wanted to come over herself and... well, you know how she is, not exactly the type to say her feelings or anything. So..." I swallowed. "Are you OK?"  
  
Her eyes bore into mine and I saw so much strength in her, but in times like this, no matter how strong she was, I feared she would collapse under the grief. "What do you think, Mary Jane?" she asked quietly. It was not sarcasm. She was sincere. "Do you think I'll be all right?"  
  
How could I answer any otherwise? "Yes. Of course you'll be all right, Aunt May." I smiled, because if I didn't, I would cry.  
  
She nodded. "I think so, too. But this is a trying time, dear, and when times were trying, Ben and me always got through them together. Now... he's not here." Not knowing, what to say, I looked down and simply listened as she went on. "I don't know what to do, but I think I'll be all right, Mary Jane. I still have Peter, and we can go on. We always have."  
  
That brought my attention to something. "Where IS Peter?" I asked. "How's he doing?"  
  
She sighed. "Young people today, I never know where he is anymore." A strand of hair fell in front of her face. She brushed it away absently. "He said he wanted to take a walk. Just wanted to be alone, I guess. Can't say I blame him."  
  
"He must have taken it very hard."  
  
"He did, yes, but he's a strong boy. He'll figure things out for himself."  
  
"I hope he does, Aunt May. I really do."  
  
Aunt May was silent for a while, then she leaned forward and took my hand in hers. Her skin was warm but her hands, they were so thin. "You're a wonderful young woman, Mary Jane," she said. "I've watched you grow up all these years, and you've taken very good care of yourself after your father left."  
  
That was such a sudden change in topic that I was startled. "I... It was a long time ago," I stammered. "I don't even remember..."  
  
"Exactly," she said, suddenly firm and full of confidence. "That was a thing of your past. Someday, not today or tomorrow, but someday, this will be a part of my past, and Peter's. Time goes on. Life goes on. We'll be just fine, dear. Because in this world, if you're not just fine after these things, you will never be just fine."  
  
For a long time I sat with her, talking, chatting about nothing. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable, as if a slight breeze could blow her over. But when it began to get dark and I got up to leave, I truly believed that she would be all right.  
  
"Take care, Aunt May," I said. We were standing at the door of her house. She hugged me tightly and I held her back.  
  
"I will," she said, "take care of yourself, too, Mary Jane."  
  
"Please tell Peter I'm sorry I missed him." She nodded. "Good bye, Aunt May."  
  
When her door closed, I felt better than I had in a long time. Talking to her made me feel... more confident about my life. My footsteps felt much lighter. After all, if she could survive, and do it well, after all this, why couldn't I straighten up and fix my own life? I was about to head home when a figure caught my eye.  
  
It was Peter. He was sitting at the end of the street, on the curb, with his head cast downward. A car sped by and from the looks of it showered him with dust. He didn't even move, or lift an eye. A minute passed, then another, he still didn't move. Watching him had an odd hypnotic effect, and it was a while before I realized I was standing, equally motionlessly, looking at him. Finally, I walked toward him.  
  
He was a sad image, sitting there looking at nothing at all, with his hands on his propped up knees. The streetlights snapped on, and the yellowy light made the whole scene even more depressing. It was like an oil painting, one that illustrated tears, and hopelessness.  
  
"Peter?" He looked up and I saw despair in his eyes, as if the world held nothing for him anymore. It made me want to cry. "Are you OK?"  
  
He didn't answer, just looked at me. Then, slowly, he shook his head and looked down again, avoiding my gaze. I sat down next to him on the curb and didn't speak. We stayed like that for a long, peaceful moment.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.  
  
"What? What for?"  
  
"I'm sorry that I'm not in the mood to talk. Why don't you go home?" The sadness in his voice was heavy.  
  
"I went to see your aunt. She seems to be fine. I just want to make sure you are, too."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
Gingerly, I placed one hand on his shoulder, except he didn't seem to feel it. "I know it's hard to lose your uncle."  
  
He looked up at the sky and I followed his gaze. For the first time, I saw how many stars one could see on this desolate little street. "It's not just that," he said. "It's..."  
  
"What?"  
  
Peter looked away. "Nothing."  
  
"Peter..."  
  
"Thanks for going to see my aunt, M.J.," he said in a suddenly lighter tone. "I'm sure she appreciated it."  
  
"I'm happy to do it."  
  
He suddenly stood up. "I'll be fine," he said. "You should get home. Thanks." He began to walk away, leaving me still sitting on the curb.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For caring."  
  
When I got home that night, I saw that in my hurry I had left Flash's ring tossed carelessly into a corner on the bed.  
  
~*~  
  
The two weeks before graduation passed before I had another chance to talk to Peter. There ceremony was only one day away, and things were feeling more and more tense between me and Flash. Seemed as if each day I let him do more than I did. Was it guilt? Perhaps.  
  
We were parked in make out lane again, in his birthday convertible with the top down. Flash appeared more determined than usual as he placed his hands all over me. At some points he groped me so hard it hurt. Somehow I let him. Slowly, he forced me onto my back in the backseat of the car and slipped his hands under my blouse. I pushed him off, as much as I could manage.  
  
"Flash!"  
  
He didn't stop. "Don't worry, babe, this'll only take a second."  
  
For some reason, that caught my attention hard. With all my strength, I shoved him off and sat up. "What? What's gonna take a second?"  
  
Flash leaned back and sighed dramatically. "Right, like you don't know."  
  
It hit me. "What?! I told you I am not going to do that!"  
  
"Look, babe," he said to me, one word at a time, as if to a child. "You took the ring, and that was an agreement, right? So, you know..."  
  
So that was it, that was the whole point of it. Suddenly I was very angry, but something in me still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. "What's the ring got to do with it?"  
  
"Hey, you didn't think I gave you that ring for nothing now, did you?" he smirked.  
  
I was not as shocked as I should have been. "I, I thought you said it was because I meant something to you."  
  
"Sweetie, every girl I been with meant something to me." He began to touch me again.  
  
"No! Get off!"  
  
His grip tightened. "You know, you're making this difficult."  
  
I slapped him. "Good!"  
  
The surprise on his face was apparent. Obviously, no other girl had passed up such an "excellent" offer before. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me for defying him, or force himself on me whether I liked it or not. Thinking this, I backed away from him, as much as allowed in the little space in the car, but thankfully, he did nothing.  
  
"You brainy girls are worthless," he seethed through gritted teeth.  
  
I looked away. "Take me home."  
  
Flash didn't seem to hear me. "I knew I should've stuck with cheerleaders."  
  
"Take me home NOW, Flash."  
  
"Worthless, good-for-nothing..."  
  
I pushed open the door before he finished. "Know what? I'll walk."  
  
He may have glanced over to see me get out, or perhaps he didn't notice at all as I slammed the door hard, hoping I'd done it hard enough to dent the metal. Just outside the alley, I realized that I still had his jacket on. Some little part of my brain said to go back and return it, but the rest of my mind knew he'd never miss it. He could buy another if he wanted, the way he thought he could buy me.  
  
Disgusted, I torn it off and threw it into the ditch.  
  
I walked for half an hour before a fact occurred to me: I was about twelve miles from home; it was take me all night if I walked at this rate. My watch said 8:45 p.m. and I'd be lucky if I were home by midnight. George was going to yell at me again and how exactly do I explain the situation with Flash to my mother.  
  
Tired, I sat down on the curb to rest and prayed that I don't get mugged or raped. Although the latter could have been happening right then if I hadn't gotten out of there.  
  
Ten minutes passed. As I got up to keep walking, a car drove in front of me. I didn't take much notice but as I stood it screeched to a stop a few yards away from me. The driver's door opened and a figure stepped out. Alarmed, I prepared to run away.  
  
"Mary Jane?" the voice was a breeze of relief. "Is that you?"  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Yeah." He walked toward me, a questioning look in his eyes. "What are you doing here?"  
  
I shook my head. "Don't ask."  
  
He opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Um, want a ride home? Or are you on a date or something?"  
  
Date. Don't remind me. "A ride home would be nice."  
  
He walked to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door. "Well, come on," he gestured for me.  
  
On the way home, neither of us said much but from the way he kept glancing at me I knew that he wanted to know what happened. I kept my eyes to the window, grateful for his presence but avoiding conversation. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at my house.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," I said and got ready to get out.  
  
"M.J., wait."  
  
I stopped. "Yeah?"  
  
Harry scratched him head nervously. "Um, you're not still with Flash, are you?"  
  
I sighed and mumbled, "not for long."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. Thanks for the ride, Harry. I really appreciate it."  
  
"No problem. But..."  
  
I got out before he could ask anymore. It might have been unintentionally rude, but I had a lot on my mind. Flash's ring was still in my purse since it was too big for my fingers. I had to restrain myself from throwing it out the car window on the way.  
  
~*~  
  
The house was dark and a note was taped onto the banister. Part of me was nervous to be in a silent, empty house, but most of me relaxed at the idea of not having to deal with my mother or George. I turned on the lights and read the note. It was simply, like most notes are:  
  
Mary  
  
George and I have gone on a last-minute road trip. Be back Tuesday. Sorry to miss your graduation.  
  
Luv Mom  
  
Plopping down on the messy couch, I tossed the note aside. This was not unusual. Mom and George sometimes took off without notice and left me by myself for days. This happened more as I grew older and I minded less and less. It was nice to have the house to myself every now and then. As for graduation, well, George would agree with Flash that brainy girls were worthless.  
  
Although I liked having friends, been alone was special to me. That night I slept downstairs, on the couch, and wrapped a blanket around myself tightly, pretending that it was the arms of a strong, mysterious man. Everything, and everyone, that troubled me, was far away. 


	6. Section 6

Section 6  
  
Graduation.  
  
I had never thought that this day would actually come. It had always been regarded as a far-off thing that probably would happen but not to me, like the end of the world by global warming. And yet, as I sat in the crowd in my green gown, waiting for my name to be called, I felt both excited and sad and the same time. Although I had never had much sentimental attachments to Midtown High, leaving the place I had spent my last four years was still somewhat emotional.  
  
The ceremony was held outside, not exactly considerate for those of us in the stuffy gowns and caps in desperate need of air holes. But at least my chair happened to be under a small patch of shade that oversaw about twenty students so I couldn't complain too much. Mom and George didn't show, of course, and surprisingly I didn't really miss them. George would probably make a basketful of snide comments about "bookworms", and mom... Well, mom wasn't really the education-comes-first type.  
  
"... and I present to you the graduating class of 2002!"  
  
The green caps went flying above me. It was a beautiful sight, almost made me wish I had a camera. But it wasn't until they landed that I noticed I had not thrown mine. I had taken it off in preparation of throwing, but was clutching it in my hand instead. In my other hand was Flash's class ring.  
  
The students began to crowd out of the aisles, going to their family members and friends, hearing congratulation and receiving hugs. I wondered out of the seats when most of the people cleared away and gave bland hugs to Sarah and Michelle. They were positively glowing in their gowns and caps, chatting about the Ivy League schools they were going to. I listened with a wide smile plastered on my face and sincerely wished them good luck, knowing I would probably never see them again.  
  
An arm wrapped around my shoulder as the two girls made their way away from me. I knew that touch anywhere. Unfortunately.  
  
"Hey baby," Flash said oily. "You got away from me yesterday." I gave him a hard glare and pushed his arm off. "What's got into you?"  
  
"Flash, are you going to pretend nothing happened?"  
  
He spread his hands in a dramatic fashion. "Hey, no problems whatsoever," he said. "You were nervous, and I understand."  
  
"You understand?"  
  
"Sure." He got closer and began to touch me again. "Your first time, and you were nervous and ran off. Nothing to it. I forgive you."  
  
"YOU forgive ME?" Something boiled in me and suddenly I wondered how his face would look after ten minutes in a blender.  
  
"Sure, hon." A slobbery kiss was planted on my cheek. "You're still my girl, Brainy Jane."  
  
"No I'm NOT!" I shoved him away from me hard enough to make him stagger. "I'm breaking up with you, Flash."  
  
He stared at me in disbelief. "What?"  
  
"I'm breaking up with you! I hate your guts, so just get out of my life!" Maybe I didn't have the right to act like that. After all, I did go along with him for quite a while without a word, but on that day I just had to yell, to get something off my chest. "You can take all your stuff back." The ring, it was still in my hand. I slapped it into his palm. "Here's your ring back!"  
  
Flash stared at it for a moment. "Fine," he said sternly. "Fine. You know what? We're through."  
  
Watching him walk away felt pretty good. In fact, it felt great. There was an uneasy feeling on my mind, however. I turned and got ready to leave, but saw that someone had been watching the whole exchange. It was Harry Osborn.  
  
~*~  
  
"So you broke it off with him." It was not a question. It was a statement. I nodded.  
  
"Yes. He have me his ring and I thought he actually liked me." Heat rose to my cheek and I looked down. "I'm so stupid."  
  
"No, don't say that, M.J.," Harry said quickly. "You're not stupid."  
  
"Maybe not, but I still fell for it." I kicked a pebble off of the back street we were walking on. He had offered to carry both his gown and my own as we strolled, but I insisted on carrying my own. It might have been dumb stubbornness but at the moment I didn't care.  
  
He sighed. "M.J., look, guys like Flash, you can't rely on them. They're bond to use you eventually." I just nodded again, knowing he was looking at me but didn't meet his gaze. "Besides," he went on, "It's his loss. I mean, his life peaked like three weeks ago and you've got a long way ahead of you."  
  
"That's very philosophical."  
  
He shrugged. "I got most of it from Peter."  
  
I chuckled. Been with him was making me feel somewhat better. "So what are you doing now?"  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Next year, I mean."  
  
"I'm going to college. Moving into the city, sharing an apartment with Peter."  
  
"Sounds like fun."  
  
"I supposed. What are you doing?"  
  
"Working, mostly. Need money for school. Maybe take a few classes if I can afford it."  
  
"You know, M.J.," he said, showing concern in his voice, "If you need money, I can loan you whatever you need."  
  
"No. But thank you for the offer, Harry." I was grateful that he offered, but it was not in my nature to accept such a great favor. "Hopefully I'll get an acting job in the year's time, then it'll be much easier."  
  
"Good luck, then."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He stopped. I looked at him questioningly and saw that he was nervous and serious at the same time. "Mary Jane, I know this might me too soon," he said, "but would you like to go out with me sometime? Maybe just for fun?"  
  
He was cute when he was nervous, and that told me that not all rich boys are like Flash. "Yeah, I'd like that, Harry."  
  
~*~  
  
The first time I heard about Spider Man, I was working my shift at the Moon Dance cafe. The job was nowhere near glamorous, just the basic wipe the table and collect the tip kind of job. Ever since the first day, I knew I would not want to be here long. My boss, a portly, foul-tempered man who went by Enrique, led me to the counter and said, "you work the register from 10 to 12, serve tables 4-6 from 12 to 2, and clean dishes 2-4. You get a $20 base pay a day and the rest in tips. If everything's clean and in one piece, I'm happy. If they're not, I get mean. Questions?"  
  
Believe you me, ever since day one, I made sure everything was clean and in one piece. I worked hard all summer, but there was still pathetically little money in my bank account. Mom and George took lots of road trips and it was up to me to buy groceries and pay the bills, mostly out of my own pocket. On some days I felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper into a black hole filled with puny tips and dirty dishes.  
  
On that day, I was wiping one of the tables at the end of the day. Even though it was my time to do dishes, one of the waitresses didn't show so Enrique had me cover her shift. Table number five, perhaps. The family with twin two-year-olds that sat there had left mashed up food all over the table accompanied by grease stains and spilt drinks. The father had spent the whole time reading his newspaper while his wife kept putting on thick layers of makeup in a desperate attempt not to look her age. Both of them were oblivious while I tried my best with toys and treats to keep their babies from screaming up a storm.  
  
When they left, the table had a dollar tip on it, lying on top of the newspaper the father had left behind. I placed those things on the chairs as I scrubbed off the table, thinking not very nice things about them in the process.  
  
"Yo Miss Watson!" I grimaced at Enrique's voice. "You wanna finish up those dishes before the dinner crowd gets in?"  
  
"I'm still cleaning this table, Enrique."  
  
"Well hurry up there! I swear, by the time you're done they'd be knocking this place over for another Starbucks!"  
  
I slammed the rag in my hand down on the table and faced him. "You want to do this yourself?"  
  
He headed back to the kitchen. "Just hurry it up and get washing."  
  
Some might have questioned the harsh way I spoke to someone who's supposed to be my boss, but I knew that Enrique would never fire me. All summer long, I was the only employee who stayed so long putting up with him. One because I needed the money, and two because at a few times I enjoyed bickering with him as a source of venting.  
  
My jacket was hanging on a hook behind the counter. I grabbed the dollar tip and newspaper and stuffed them both into the pocket before heading to the mountain of dishes in the back. My legs were already sore from the hours of standing and my hair smelled like old coffee and frying oil. But, work was work and work had to be done if I wanted to get paid. Sighing, I tied my hair back into a ponytail and started my work at the sink.  
  
I didn't get to leave until 5:30 that day, way after my shift was over. The girl who was supposed to take over for me showed up half an hour late and instead of helping me, she had to start serving tables right away, so I spent all that time alone in the back, wearing down my fingernails on the thick greasy.  
  
Finally, filthy, exhausted, and hating the smell of food for life, I got ready to leave. Enrique caught me at the door. "Yo, Miss Watson!"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "What, Enrique?"  
  
"I need you an hour early tomorrow."  
  
"Why? Brenda's supposed to be here for the early shift."  
  
"Yeah well she ain't so you better be here."  
  
I sighed. "I better get paid for this."  
  
"'Course. I don't expect nobody to work for nothing." He gave a shove out the door. "Now go home, sleep, and get here tomorrow."  
  
Great. An extra hour I gotta spend tomorrow in the grease pot known as Moon Dance. Lucky, lucky me. As I walked toward the bus station and prayed I had enough change, the cell phone in my jacket pocket rang.  
  
"Hello?" I knew who it was, however. The phone was a gift from Harry and only he called me on it since no one else knew I had it. All throughout the summer, Harry and I dated on and off, but things were starting to get serious recent and I did know that I liked him a lot better than Flash.  
  
"Hey M.J., it's me." Yep, Harry.  
  
"Hey Harry, what's up?"  
  
"Want to go out to dinner tonight?"  
  
At first I really wanted to say yes. Harry was a good person to hang out with, despite the fact that sometimes he seemed a little ignorant, like the way he always wanted to shower me with gifts, as if fearing if he didn't, I'd get away. He was kind of insecure, but that was one of his adorable qualities.  
  
"I'd love to, Harry. But I can't."  
  
"How come? Are you sick?"  
  
I chucked. He always worried too much. "No, I'm just... tired. I was out all day looking for auditions and stuff."  
  
"Oh. Want me to come by later?"  
  
"Well... not today. I really want to get some rest."  
  
"Alright." The disappointment in his voice made me regret having to lie to him. "I'll see you later, then." But what choice did I have? Harry was not a common boy. He lived in the high society. And although he was nice and caring most of the time, sometimes his social status gets the best of him. He would never approve of his girlfriend working in such a place. If I ever told him, he would attempt to persuade me to accept money from him, which was something I could not do.  
  
"Bye, Harry."  
  
At the station, there were only two other people waiting for the bus: a mid- aged woman who sat like a statue and a young Caucasian man standing and smoking a cheap cigar. I sat down on the bench next to the woman and rubbed my poor legs. It felt good to sit but somehow I wasn't comfortable. That was when I noticed the newspaper still in my pocket.  
  
Since the next bus wasn't going to be there anytime soon anyway, I opened the newspaper and scanned it. It was a copy of the Daily Bugle, a big city newspaper, one not often received by us small-towners. Mindlessly, I flipped through it. There was a boring article on politics in front, and plenty of stuff about the continued investigation on the recent terrorist attack. Nothing special. I was just about to thrown it away when an article caught my eye.  
  
It was a small article on the fourth page, entitled "Masked Man Foils Robbery". According to the story, a small family-owned convenience store experienced attempted robbery by two armed men. When you live in New York, things like this were part of the everyday life. People rob people and that was that. For it to make the paper, it must have been unique.  
  
The robbery, which took place on the corner of Sixth and Hendrick, was successful at first. The two men took their bag full of money and raced outside, where, however, they were promptly stopped by a third party. Witnesses said that they saw a person, most likely a man, dressed in an odd costume that might as well have stepped out of a comic book. The man used what looked like thin ropes to lasso the two robbers and strung them up onto a light post. Then, according to the storeowner, who had first thought he wanted the money for himself, the man tossed the bag of cash back into the store, then simply vanished as the owner chased out for a better look. No one got a close look of the masked man and the only hard evidence of his existence was a blurry footage from the store's security camera. Most people who saw the incident insisted that it was probably some nut job looking for media attention, or that the whole thing, including the robbery, was staged.  
  
Another day, another freak was born in New York City. That was the attitude of most people toward this event, according to the article. But somehow this story held my attention for a long time. Just the idea of someone dressed up like a comic book hero wondering about the city appealed to me, as if reality had just been bent into a fantasy. A mysterious man, a loner, hanging about the city selflessly helping others...  
  
No matter what other people said about him, when the bus came my mood was brightened significantly, very likely because of the article. Carefully, I folded the newspaper and tucked it into my pocket.  
  
~*~  
  
I didn't think much more of this particular article, although the newspaper had a special place on my shelf for a long time. But as the next couple of weeks wore on, more and more stories revolving the mysterious person appeared. Just three days after finding the newspaper, a car drove off the side of a highway and flipped over, trapping the driver underneath, been crushed to death slowly as the spectators looked on helplessly, waiting for help to arrive. When the official arrived, however, it was reported that a man in an odd costume had simply showed up and literally tore the broken car door off its hinges. He then flipped the car up with little effort and pulled the driver out. Several people tried to speak to the man, but he left without a word.  
  
"He raises his hands and ropes come out," said one onlooker, "and he climbs up the ropes like a spider."  
  
Soon, another report came onto the Daily Bugle, this time on page two with a bigger headline. A jewelry store was held up by two robbers in the middle of the night, but when police arrived at the scene, answering to the alarm the manager set off, there was nothing to worry about. The two robbers were, get this, stuck like flies on a huge spider web set between two light posts.  
  
"It's amazing," said one of the officers, "I had never seen anything like it in my twelve years as a cop."  
  
A few days after that, another story was posted. A woman reported that she was held at gun point by a man in an alley. He took her purse and was either about to shoot or rape her when the masked man-"swung", as she described it-from the sky and knocked the robber away. A note was left to her, written in a roundish, almost cute handwriting-"courtesy, friendly neighborhood Spider Man".  
  
After that, the mysterious man got a name, and the news reports began.  
  
People obviously had mixed feelings about this figure that called himself Spider Man. Several news stations interviewed random people who had sighted him or even witnessed one of his heroic deeds. It appeared to me that either these people had either too much free time or no life, maybe both.  
  
"This is not a man," one of the persons interviewed said, "my brother saw him building a nest in the Lincoln Park fountain."  
  
"I think he's human," a lady who was shown with many dogs said, "I think he's a man. Could be a woman."  
  
Some people thought quite highly of him, like the ones who had witnessed him save someone or stop some street crime.  
  
"The guy protects us, you know, he protects the people," stated a man whose wife had received the first note from the friendly neighborhood superhero.  
  
A young woman not much older than I told a reporter dreamily, "I see the web, and it's a signature, and I know, that Spider Man was here!"  
  
A fair amount of people, however, thought different, even though they had seen nothing but good deeds done.  
  
"He's a freak, some kinda wack-a-doo," said a cop who had seen Spider man swing over the city.  
  
"He stinks, and I don't like him," stated someone who was more direct.  
  
There were also people who didn't fall into either category and I privately labeled those people the "odd ones" in my mind. On my way to work one day, a news group was interviewing a group of people by the subway entrance. I hadn't intended to stop, but something caught my ear as I was heading down the stairs.  
  
A girl my age with an orange-red frizz haircut and way too many body piercings was answering questions while smoking a cigarette. "Guy with eight hands," she said, "sounds hot."  
  
I had to turn away to keep from laughing out loud as a chubby mid-aged lady stepped to the reporter. A few questions later, she was asked about how she felt about the presence of Spider Man over-all. She thought for a moment and said, "well, I never had any contact with him so I don't know very much, but he's got those tights and that tight little b..."  
  
I walked away then. Because if I didn't I'd have stood there and actually pictured what she was talking about in my mind.  
  
When the subway arrived at my destination, I got off with a smile still on my face, thinking of the amusing interview. I mean, if that lady hadn't had any contact with Spider Man, she must have had a pair of high-power binoculars to see how tight his b  
  
I'll stop there.  
  
In front of the stairs leading up to the street, a man in his twenties wearing a cowboy hat was putting on a performance with his guitar for change. He looked somewhat like a hippie and whenever someone gave him some money, I expected him to hand them a flower and say things like "peace be with you, man."  
  
I didn't plan to listen, but again, fate caught my ear.  
  
"Dressed like a spider, looks like a bug," he sang and strung on his guitar, "we should all just give him one big hug. Look out, whoo! Here comes Spider Man..."  
  
I chuckled and dropped a few coins in front of him. He smiled and lifted his hat. "Thank you ma'am, you're very kind."  
  
I smiled and said as I walked away, "just so you know, he doesn't look like a bug." 


	7. Section 7

Thanks for all the good reviews on chapter six. Yep, this is yet another new section. Y'all much think I have no life, spending all my time writing this stuff. Well, two things: one, this is what I do to entertain myself, two, because of one, I really do have no life. But that's ok ^.^ because I love getting reviews. Ciao! Enjoy!  
  
Section 7  
  
Harry's hand felt warm and reassuring as he reach across the table and touched my arm. Every time he touched me, I felt guilty about keeping my job a secret. It shouldn't be a big deal, but some part of me was very weary about his continuous offers to help me out financially. I really liked Harry, but there was no way I was going to let myself depend on a man to live.  
  
"You seem distracted tonight, M.J.," he said quietly, trying to meet my eye. "Are you OK?"  
  
I nodded and smiled. It was not a very natural smile, not because I didn't like been with him, but because I felt very out of place in this fancy restaurant he had brought me to. The lighting was way too dim, and luxurious decors seemed too fragile to be touched. The overly politeness of the waiters were making me uncomfortable. Harry, on the other hand, fit right in. He was poised and relaxed in an environment that seemed all too tense to me, and his every action screamed "high class gentleman". Although he acted like a common boy in school, he seemed to automatically switch to high-class mode here.  
  
"I'm fine," I told him.  
  
He lifted my hand up and kissed it. "Good," he said, "where do you want to go after dinner?"  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
Harry checked his watch, which looked expensive but personally I couldn't tell. "Almost ten. Want to catch a late movie?"  
  
Another wave of uneasiness washed over me as I remember the early shift I had to work the next day. "I better get home," I said regretfully.  
  
Sighing, he half-leaned, half-slumped back into his chair. "I don't get it, M.J. What do you do all the time?"  
  
"Just... things."  
  
He shrugged. "You know, you're a lot like Peter," he said. "He goes out all the time and I never know where. But... you know, that's fine. He can do what he wants since I can get the apartment to myself. But you, M.J..."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"I'm not saying I want to know everything you do, M.J.," he continued. "I know that's your business. I just wish that every now and then you'd tell me so I'd know what's going on with you. With us."  
  
"Harry there's nothing wrong with us," I said quickly. He gave me a skeptical look and I almost blurted everything out, but I held my tongue.  
  
"Really?" he asked. "You know, you never told your family about us going out."  
  
I shook my head. "You know what my family is like. If my stepfather found out I was going out with you he'd be on my case until I borrow money from you, and I don't want to do that."  
  
"I wouldn't mind."  
  
"Well I do. And my mother. She's going to pressure me into marrying you or something and that is not something I want to hear about day and night. We've talked about this before, Harry. It's better for my family not to find out."  
  
"Well, even so," Harry said slowly. "I just want to know that we're not just fooling around. I just want to know that you're at least somewhat serious about me, because, Mary Jane, I'm very serious about been with you."  
  
I took his hand. "I AM serious about been with you, and that's why I don't want to tell my family. I don't want them to interfere. Besides, you haven't told your dad about us."  
  
He gripped my fingers and looked at me with dead seriousness. "My father is not an easy man, M.J. He sets very high standards for everything and so far I have no been able to meet any of his expectation. I'm just afraid that if he ever met you, all he's going to see are flaws and not the wonderful girl I'm actually with."  
  
"It can't be that bad."  
  
"It can."  
  
I thought about it. "OK," I nodded, "we'll keep our own secrets for now. Who knows, maybe one day it will all work out."  
  
Harry didn't seem all that convinced, but he leaned over and kissed me.  
  
~*~  
  
Stubborn.  
  
You didn't know stubbornness until you've tries to scrape day-old peach cobbler off of six pans. My nails were breaking off one after another and the few surviving ones were wearing down to the base. The skin on my fingers were getting wrinkled from the many hours soaked in gray, lukewarm soap water, and my legs were starting to ache.  
  
A hand suddenly pressed hard around my neck. I started and the pan in my hand dunked into the sink, splashing the front of my uniform before I could step back. Angrily, I turned around, ready to clean someone's clock, and came face to face with a smug smile.  
  
"Hey baby," said a sly voice.  
  
"Go away, Clint." I pushed, or rather shoved, the busboy away, leaving wet handprints on his uniform.  
  
Clint staggered a little and gave me a look that reminded a lot of Flash. "Playing hard to get?" he said. "Is that the fad now?"  
  
I turned back the sink and began to fish out the one I had dropped. Clint leaned in and sniffed my hair. Annoyed, I moved away and continued to clean the pans. "I'm not in the mood for this, Clint."  
  
He moved in closer. "What? Does that mean you'll be in the mood later?"  
  
"Leave me alone. Don't you have tables to clean?"  
  
"Nope, just finished." He slowly slipped an arm around my shoulders. "I'm all yours, baby." Feeling frustrated, I threw an elbow back hard and knocked him square in the chest, perhaps by luck. He uttered a light "oof" and the arm on my shoulder slipped off. "Awesome, I like chicks with muscles, wanna put them to use later?"  
  
I slapped the rag in my hand down on the edge of the sink and faced him again. "First of all, Clint, I have a boyfriend, and even if I didn't, I'd never, EVER, go out with you."  
  
He put on a mocking hurt expression. "Well why not, baby?"  
  
"You're disgusting."  
  
"That's OK," he shrugged, "we don't have to go out. How about a quickie in the store room?"  
  
"Go away!"  
  
Clint cocked his head and grabbed my arm with one hand, just firmly enough to hold me in place. "How about a kiss?" He leaned in and puckered up.  
  
I stepped on his foot, hard, putting my whole weight into it. He yelped in pain and the hand on my arm loosened. Taking the opportunity, I pushed him and he went staggering into a cart full of trays, knocking quite a few onto the floor. Enrique poked his head in before Clint even steadied his step.  
  
"What the hell is going on in here?" he asked curtly and gave Clint a nasty look. "No monkey business in here! You're getting paid to work. Shouldn't you be busing tables, Docker?"  
  
Clint quickly picked up the trays on the floor and mumbled, "yes."  
  
Enrique looked at me. "And you, Miss Watson," he said, "go back to scrubbing those pans and get to the register before the dinner crowd comes in. You and Docker here can screw around when you're not on my hours, got it?"  
  
I nodded. "Yes, Enrique."  
  
"Good. Get back to work." He walked out without another word. Clint gazed at me.  
  
"Not bad for a chick."  
  
"Shut up," I snapped.  
  
"I'll be waiting for you after your shift." He grabbed a rag and headed out, limping a little on one foot. "Geez, you step hard."  
  
"Next time I'll be aiming higher."  
  
~*~  
  
I was apprehensive for the rest of the day. Even though I knew Clint was probably too wimpy or too stupid to actually force me into anything, but just the thought of been near him made me sick. He was like a combination of Flash and George thrown into one body. People came and went as I worked the register half-mindedly, estimating the change without even checking. Maybe it was just my imagination but a couple of people seemed pretty happy after receiving their change.  
  
At last, three miserable hours later, Enrique announced change of shift. With a few quick looks, I made sure that Clint wasn't around before heading out.  
  
The streets were noisy and dirty as ever and there were puddles on the ground from last night when it rained. I put on my old coat and headed across the street to the bus station. A car full of teenage boys drove past me and one of them rolled down his window and whistled. There were times when I would have pretended I liked it and smiled at them, or given them a nasty look, but today I simply kept my head down and walked.  
  
"Hey!" a voice called. I could feel a headache coming on just with the thought of Clint.  
  
"Buzz off," I said without turning around.  
  
A hand laid on my shoulder. "M.J.! It's me, Peter."  
  
Hearing the friendly voice of Peter Parker both cheered me up and alarmed me. Reflexively, I wrapped my coat around my body tightly to hide my uniform and greeted him.  
  
"Hi!" Peter smiled at me and I couldn't help but smile back. "What are you doing around here?"  
  
He showed me the stack of newspapers he held in one hand. "I'm, uh, I'm begging for a job," he said, a little embarrassed. "How about you?"  
  
Something in my head clicked. It seemed like just yesterday that I had stood in the night with Peter, talking about our big dreams and I had poured my heart out to him about my dreams of acting, but now... what do I tell him? So I lied. "Oh, I'm headed to an audition," I said, still keeping my smiled up. It wasn't a complete lie. It was going to be true someday, but for now, that hat to do.  
  
Peter gave me an impressed look. "Audition? So you're acting now?"  
  
"Yeah, I work steady. In fact, I just got off a job."  
  
"That's great M.J.!" Peter exclaimed and I felt the same guilt that I felt with Harry last night. "You're doing it. You're living your dream."  
  
I nodded half-heartedly. "Yeah."  
  
"Hey counter girl!" yelled a gruff voice from behind me. I bit my lip and wondered if this could have been a worse time. "The drawer was short six dollars. Next time that happens I'm gonna take it outta your check!" Peter looked at me, a little confused. I prayed that Enrique would be quiet, but no such luck. "Excuse me, Miss Watson! I'm talking to you! Hey!"  
  
Taking a deep breath, I wondered if I was as transparent as glass at the moment. Yes Enrique!" I yelled back to him. "Ok? I get you!"  
  
"Better happen no more, you heard me?" He said as he strolled back to the diner. I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "Don't roll your eyes at me!"  
  
Peter was looking at me with a questioning expression. Sighing, I opened my coat and let him see my uniform. "Some dream, huh?"  
  
He shook his head. "That's nothing to be embrassed about."  
  
I clamped my coat shut again. "Don't tell Harry."  
  
He chuckled as if that made no sense. "Don't tell Harry?"  
  
"Aren't you guys living together?" I asked, wondering for a moment if Harry never told Peter about us. "We're going out. Didn't he tell you?"  
  
Peter stared at me for half a second before nodding. "Oh, yeah. Right."  
  
"I, I think he'd hate the idea of me waiting tables," I said dejectedly. "He'd think it was low or something."  
  
"It's not low. You have a job," Peter said with a comfortingly smile. "You know, Harry, he doesn't live on a little place I'd like to call earth."  
  
I laughed. "No, I guess not." A few seconds passed and neither of us spoke. I looked at Peter and once again noticed how blue his eyes were. "Thanks, Pete." He shrugged nonchalantly. "We should catch up some time."  
  
"Let's get some lunch some evening," he called to me as I walked away toward the other side of the street. I turned back and smiled at him. He grinned awkwardly. "I'll, I'll come by and have some of your Moon Dance coffee. And I won't tell Harry."  
  
"No, don't tell Harry," I called as I waved to him.  
  
"I won't!" He called back.  
  
That day, as I walked through the busy streets of New York, every sound sounded like music to my ears.  
  
~*~  
  
The pendant was small but delicate and beautiful. As Harry slipped it around my neck I wondered whether it was pure gold, and knew that most likely it was.  
  
"Harry, you shouldn't have."  
  
He kissed my cheek gently. "But I wanted to." He ran a hand along the chain resting against my skin. "It looks beautiful on you."  
  
I grabbed his hand and moved it down to the couch we were sitting on. We were inside a hotel suite, one of which we met occasionally. Back when he first suggested meeting in a hotel, I was rather nervous about his intentions, but soon I realized that he had no ill will. Staying in a hotel for dates was merely a way to have a home-like environment without actually been at either of our homes.  
  
"I really wish you'd stop buying me things all the time," I told him softly.  
  
"M.J., listen," he said, wrapping his hand around mine. "I need to talk to you."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"My father found out about us."  
  
Something lodges in my throat. I always knew that sooner or later Harry's dad would know about us, but I never quite figured out how to handle the situation now that it's in front of me. Norman Osborn was a good man, but a very hard one to impress.  
  
"Well, not us, particularly," Harry went on, "he just knows that I'm dating someone and lately he's been pressuring me to introduce the, in his words, 'mystery girl', to him."  
  
I thought for a moment. "So what now?"  
  
"Now? Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He moistened his lips nervously. "I want you two to meet."  
  
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"  
  
He looked at me, a little hurt. "Don't you want to?"  
  
I kissed him. "Harry, of course I do. It's just that... well, do you think he'd like me?"  
  
"He will." He wrapped his arms around me and I leaned against him. "He has to accept the best thing that's ever happened to me."  
  
I nodded. "All right. When do you plan for... this to happen?"  
  
Harry was silent as he considered this. "How about the World Unity Festival next week? I'll buy you some new outfits and you can dress up like a real lady."  
  
I chuckled. "Are you saying I'm not a lady?"  
  
"Well, no, I just..." I shushed him with one hand and he kissed my fingers gently.  
  
For some reason, for the rest of the night, I kept wondering what Peter would make of this. 


	8. Section 8

NOTE: due to point made by Aeris Gainsborough and X-treme in a review on 2002-08-02, this chapter was changed slightly. Thanks to them for pointing out a mistake. If u wanna know, go read the review, cause I ain't explaining it. :P :)  
  
Section 8  
  
Not without some effort, the beautician secured yet another pin into my hair. I grimaced as it pinched my scalp. All my life, I had never had my hair done once, not even for homecoming dances or prom, when I bothered to go to them at all.  
  
Harry had sent a car for me, and arranged for me to get my hair done at this salon, although I begged him over and over not to fuss over me like this. But he insisted, and I did understand his insecurity about his father's opinion of me. So in the end, I gave in and followed allow.  
  
"OK, lower your chin," the woman said from behind me. I did and felt her stick more pointy objects into my hair.  
  
We had gone shopping a few days ago and he bought me three dresses and would have bought more if I hadn't told him that I truly dislike attending formal events all the time. The one I had on was a deep pink Asian style gown with gold trimmings and flower patterns. The beautician was twirling my hair into a loose bun with two things that looked suspicious like chopsticks to secure it. There was so much gel in my hair that I felt like I was wearing a helmet. Still, it did match the dress.  
  
There was a copy of the Daily Bugle sitting on a counter next to me. I reached over and grabbed it. I've been reading the paper more and more nowadays, mostly on incidents concerning "Spider Man". Something about him seemed to make life around here interesting. Finally, a true hero among our mist.  
  
But the headline made me start. It read, in bold print, "SPIDER MAN, HERO OR MENACE." Underneath was a large photograph. That was the first time I had gotten a close look at him. He indeed looked like something out of a comic book. He wore an odd-looking spandex costume that was red on top and blue on the bottom. Over his arms, chest, and face there was a webbing pattern on the material. Two shiny eyeholes covered with a material that shun like metal were on his mask, and there was a spider symbol on his chest. In the photo he was swinging over New York with the tallest buildings below him. Whoever took the picture was quite a skilled photographer.  
  
That was another thing that caught my attention. Below the photo, a tiny line of print read, "Photo by Anonymous."  
  
So whoever took the picture didn't want to be known. Interesting. I wondered that maybe if I ever got to meet him, I should ask him how he got this awesome picture, but perished the thought. Perhaps photographers didn't reveal their techniques, just like magicians don't reveal their secrets.  
  
The article was inside. It talked about a subway accident that took place a week earlier. Most people trapped inside were pulled out by the rescue team, but there were a few that were unreachable. This incident had already been on the news several times, and many bystanders saw Spider Man pull six more people out of the deep end of the sunken train. Even more spectators saw the rescued thank their hero profusely. One old woman even knelt at his feet and thanked him for saving her and her grandson.  
  
Yet, there was something more. This story went on from there. It explored the character of Spider Man in detail, despite the fact that no one has had real contact with him. It talked about his actions and his motives, all of them bad. Then it commented on that fact that he hid his identity from the general public.  
  
"Is he really a hero?" said the last line. "Then what has he got to hide?"  
  
A pair of hands came around and removed the cloth covering me from the neck down. "All right, honey, you're all done." She looked at the newspaper in my hand. "Odd guy, ain't he?"  
  
I nodded. "Yeah. How much do I owe you?"  
  
"If you ask me, the media should just leave the guy alone," the woman said as she piled her equipment aside. "Not everyday we have a guy who does something for nothing. And you're paid for, hon."  
  
"Oh," I said. Of course, I should've known. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem, enjoy the festival."  
  
The driver held the door open for me as I came out the door. I slipped in as gracefully as I could manage without tripping on my high-heeled shoes. The man seemed to be constantly studying me, not out of any ill will, but out of bewilderment. It made me think how many much classier ladies he'd driven before I came along. Plain Jane, who will never pass for a high- class woman no matter what expensive cloth was on her body or how her hair was done. When he finally got into his seat and focused on driving, I breathed a sigh of relief and took off my shoes. I would have to wear them for hours today and they were already killing me.  
  
I hate been a lady.  
  
~*~  
  
I had been to the Oscorp World Unity Festival before, but to see it from above was something else entirely.  
  
When I was thirteen years old, I had come to the festival alone. Some may say that I was too young to be at such a chaotic event by myself, but who was around to care? To my memories, the entire thing was surrounded by colors, noises, and shapes so gigantic that one could not see their entirety. It felt a little like been inside a toddler's finger-painting, where everything was a happy mess.  
  
But now, standing on a stone balcony above the Time Square, the festival looked so different. The colors and shapes fell into focus and the balloons drifted right in front of me like clouds. Music was everywhere and the lights seemed to flash extra bright even though it was a sunny day. I felt like I was a princess watching a miniature dreamland.  
  
A hand touched my arm and I didn't have to look to see who it was.  
  
"Hey M.J., enjoying the view?" Harry said and pulled me gently to face him. He looked at me intensely for a moment and I was suddenly nervous that I'd done something wrong. "Why didn't you wear the black dress, M.J.?" he finally asked.  
  
'What kind of comment was that?' was what I wanted to say, but I must have given him an unconscious glare because he quickly went on.  
  
"It's just that, I wanted to impress my father." He ran a hand down my arm lovingly. "And he loves black."  
  
This again. Sometimes I wished I could tell him to get out from under his father's thumb, but I supposed that it wasn't my place to say something like that. After all, I was just Plain Jane and I was darn lucky to be here in the first place. "Well, maybe he'll be impressed no matter what," I said to him, thinking a little boost in his confidence wouldn't hurt. "You think I'm pretty."  
  
Harry smiled. "I think you're beautiful," he leaned over to kiss me but something made me turn away. I had never been bothered by public displays of affection before, but something about the surroundings was getting to me. The people here expect me to be a lady and even though I hated it, I kept up my appearances for Harry.  
  
He pecked me on the cheek and sighed, a little disappointed that he hadn't gotten the kiss he wanted. I shrugged at him and he gave me a "what-can-I- do" smiled and gazed down at the festival below. I leaned forward on the edge of the balcony and listened to the songs floating up to us. The concrete canyons of New York had never looked so good.  
  
"Uh, M.J.?" Harry slipped an arm around me. "Can you do me a favor? I left my drink inside. Go with me to get it?"  
  
I wasn't certain why he needed me for that, but then again men do strange things, so I followed him to toward the reception room reserved by Oscorp.  
  
This was a VIP place that I'd never have hopes of stepping into if it weren't for Harry. It was decorated with the finest tapestries with a chef catering delicacies that I couldn't even pronounce. The "drink" that Harry so casually referred to was actually a glass of red wine that probably cost my whole day's earning. Even the many curves of this building and the balcony I was standing on was covered with fine carvings and statues, a show of taste and class. Once again, I felt out of place in such a luxurious environment.  
  
Harry stopped at the entrance. "One sec, M.J.," he said to me. I nodded, not in such a hurry to go in anyway. I watched him stoop to speak to a man in a wheelchair that I recognized but did not know. I recognized a lot of people at this place, mostly from Harry telling me. The man he was speaking to was, I thought, some type of big-wig at Oscorp. As they talked, I caught bits and pieces.  
  
"...father is coming?" was part of what Harry had said.  
  
"I don't think he's coming today," the older man said, sounding a little unsure. I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Up 'till now, I simply couldn't relax knowing that Harry's dad could pop out at any moment, looking at me with a most critical eye. Feeling a little cheerier, I shifted my gaze back to the festival and soaked up all the colors and sounds silhouetted against the blue sky.  
  
That was when the small aircraft caught my attention. At first I didn't plan to give it more than a glance, but something about it made it uneasy. It was traveling very fast, and dangerously close among the buildings, just above the giant balloons. In its trail it left a thick tendril of black smoke. Its movement was so smooth that I felt mesmerized. Some little part of me noticed that the noises below me had faded slightly as many more eyes focused on the newcomer.  
  
"H-Harry?" I said numbly, tugging at Harry's sleeve and still staring at the object. He stood up and gave me an odd look.  
  
"What is it? What are you looking at?" I raised one hand slightly and pointed. The other people on the balcony also stopped talking and were looking up. One of them raised a pair of binoculars.  
  
At that point the flying foreign object was making its way toward the center of the square and it was much smaller than I had first perceived, and but stranger. It resembled a tiny flat flying saucer with wing blades on each side. Standing on top of it with one foot on each wing was a man in an odd green costume that hid his entire body from the watchers.  
  
"What the hell is that?" I heard Harry mumbled. There was tension in his voice, matching the sudden nervousness in my heart. Then, it was quiet. The music had stopped, too. The singers had lost concentration as the flying disc cruised by right above them, doing a fancy twist as it went by. The audience below applauded.  
  
I almost burst out laughing. "Harry," I said, smiling and reaching for his arm. "It's just a show. Come on, let's..." He brushed me aside before I even finished. There was something about the look in his eyes that alarmed me. "Harry?"  
  
The disc circled back and headed straight for us, and I got a closer look at the man on top. The costume was really more of a green armor and the helmet he wore covered his entire head. Harry took a step back to the wall, stilling fixing his gaze on the thing, and tried to pull me with him, but I felt his fingers freeze on my wrist when the horrid laughter fill the air.  
  
"HA! HA HA HA HA!" The cackling was indeed coming from the man on the flying disc. The sound sent a shiver down my spine. Then, before my petrified eyes, the man pulled out a small round object and hurled it at the base of the balcony.  
  
Instantly, the world around me exploded. With a tremendous roar, the ground beneath me began to shake violently, as if we were experiencing an earthquake hundreds of feet above the ground. A high-pitched scream escaped me as dust and soot flew into my eyes. Glass bounded everywhere. Normally, I would have been embarrassed to make such a sound, but at that moment, I doubt anyone heard, because they were all screaming louder.  
  
The far side of the balcony literally shattered. In the mist of confusion, I saw two people stagger toward the edge just as the railing behind them gave away. My heart leaped for a second thinking that they would fall, but I didn't get the chance to see, because the ground beneath my feet gave away. The floor split in two. One side was falling and dragging me with it.  
  
I shrieked and tried to jump back to the part of the balcony still intact with the building. Harry grabbed for me but missed. The building's violent shaking threw him back against the wall, away from me. The next thing I knew, my heel was stuck in a crack and I lost my balance. I fell head first into the railing, which was now hanging by a thread in the air. My hand struck stone hard, bending my left wrist backwards and sending a bolt of pain through my body.  
  
"Oh my god, Harry!" Chaos arose all around me and the level below us had caught on fire. Heat made the panic in my heart swell as I screamed for him.  
  
"M.J.!" I heard his voice and saw him trying to get to me, but at that point too many people were running in between us. The balcony fell back some more. I may have been hysteric at the time, because I could remember nothing but the heat from the fire, and calling his name over and over.  
  
Yet, somehow, over all the noise, I still heard the flying disc make a second pass toward us. I lifted my head as much as possible to see, but the railings were starting to collapse and any movement could mean the end for me.  
  
The cruel cackle filled the air again.  
  
I will never forget seeing him throw that second grenade, because when its light hit the innocent people who were unfortunate enough to stand next to it, their flesh evaporated from their skeletons in the space of a second, and whatever remained of them collapsed into piles of ash.  
  
Even though I didn't think much of it at the time, for many months to come, I would keep replaying that scene in my nightmares.  
  
"Mary Jane!" Harry's voice came again and a spark of hope lit as I saw him get to his feet and reach for me. But in the same split second, I also saw the piece of jagged concrete falling from the upper floor.  
  
Just as he came for me, it struck him on the side of the head, right on top of the left temple. I called his name again as he hit the ground, knowing he was unconscious before he went down.  
  
Suddenly everything seemed very loud, the screaming, the falling apart of the building, even the cackle of the fire several yards below. The railings sunk back even more, so much that if I even attempted to climb back up, I would send the broken surface plus myself to the hard pavement hundreds of feet below.  
  
That was when I heard the humming behind me. Something approached me, coming up from beneath. I turned and found myself staring into a pair of horrible yellow eyes. The helmet of the green man was hideous, with ghastly teeth and glass eyes like those of a greedy insect. In fact, he looked like a hungry insect himself, and I was the prey. He was squatting steadily on his craft and gazing down at me.  
  
"Hello, my dear," he said slyly, and I thought I saw evil behind the mask, the kind little kids dreamed of. His voice dripped with oil and manipulative intelligence. He was a monster, the boogey-man.  
  
I reacted the only way I could. I screamed.  
  
For some reason, that seemed to please him. With one large green hand, he reached for me.  
  
Then he appeared.  
  
I couldn't explain how, but he just did. He appeared out of nowhere and in a flash, the green man was been knocked through the air. Spider Man swung through the space above me, seemingly held up by an invisible force, and landed steadily on the wall. He stayed on its surface, sprawled in the natural way that a toddler would on a comfortable carpet.  
  
Time seemed to stop for a moment. I still don't know why it felt that way, but for one second, it seemed as if there was only me, sitting there, gazing up at him, Spider Man. Up until that instant, he had never seemed real, like a figment of the world's imagination. But seeing him there, then, suddenly everything made sense, and there was just something exciting about knowing one fact: he's real.  
  
Then, things began to move again.  
  
With a single swift swing, Spider Man leaped off of the building and down toward the ground, out of my sight, just I felt the stone railing behind me crack. As carefully as possible, I inched myself away from the weak spot. Steel tendons creaked as I moved, threatening to snap any second. My heart pounded with fear.  
  
Someone below me screamed for her child and I over the sound of my own frightened breathing I heard the creaking of the breaking stage. I prayed quickly that no one got hurt.  
  
The green man was gone temporarily, but so was Spider Man. The balcony was weakening and with another creak, it fell down a few more inches and slanted to one side sharply. I cried out and grasped the stone with both arms, clinging on for dear life. Some childish part of me wanted to close my eyes and pretend this wasn't happening, but that would just make the panic worse. So I simply stared into space and counted the seconds before I fall. Perhaps I was screaming, but I couldn't tell over the chaos.  
  
"Mary Jane!" The voice caught my attention. I quickly searched for the source, thinking for a second that it Harry, and found instead a figure far away, standing on top of a giant balloon. It was none other than Spider Man. The green man was nowhere in sight, perhaps defeated or ran off.  
  
I almost began to wonder how he knew my name, but the sound of creaking steel killed the question. I held on to the balcony with all of my strength. "Help!" I shouted desperately. "Someone help me!" Another scream escaped me as one of the columns supporting the railing fell. I saw it drop for what seemed like an eternity to the pavement below.  
  
For a horrible split second he paused and I almost let go from the shocking fear that he might not come, but then he began to move. He jumped, and bounced to the center of a balloon closer by. I twisted my body around and leaned back against the stone, steadying myself, and breathed a sigh of relief. A second later I saw him soar toward me.  
  
When the green man grabbed him I didn't even have time to react. He appeared from behind, standing on his flying disc, and seized Spider Man. I watched them fly off together and smash right into the large window above me. Broken glass showed down on me and I shielded my face.  
  
The green man held his prey tightly and began to bash his head against the window with such force that it would have shattered a common person's skull. But to my amazement, it didn't seem to phase Spider Man one bit. He threw his elbow back and struck the green man in the face. The other was stunned momentarily but began to throw punches back almost immediately. They fought on the little space they had on the flying disc, hovering dangerously in the air.  
  
With a swift hit, the green man knocked Spider Man down his craft. Spider Man fell onto the balcony, onto the section that was still intact with the building. Right away, he leaned to the edge to check for me. I was barely grasping the edge now and slipping by the second.  
  
"Hold on!" he yelled to me. I would have found the comment humorous if I weren't doing so with every ounce of available strength.  
  
The green man cackled as he pulled his vehicle away from the wall. A pair of panels slid up on the side of the flying disc and metal tubes protruded from them. They looked like guns, aimed right at Spider Man.  
  
"Look out!" I shouted to him, but he had already turned and raised his hand in a quick gesture. A strand of sticky substance flew from his wrist and planted itself on the green man's mask.  
  
As the green man grabbed at his face, the balcony fell back a full foot. My head swung out into the air as I clasped my fingers onto a stone column. My feet were on a higher level than my head due the slant and dizziness overcame me. I stayed still just long enough to see Spider Man leap toward the flying disc and stick his hand into the engine.  
  
The green man shot into the distance as his craft swirled out of control, spewing smoke into the air.  
  
Then the railing that had supported me all this time collapsed.  
  
My head went down first, and the rest of my body followed as I tumbled off the balcony face down. The ground was rushing up at me with incredible speed. Wind was blowing into my eyes so hard it hurt. I screamed all the way down.  
  
A strong arm wrapped around my wrist just a few feet from the ground. Hysterical, frightened, and prepared for the worst, I clamped my eyelids shut and held on to whatever was holding me and waited for the pavement to strike.  
  
I waited a long time.  
  
The wind had turned gentle. It was no longer cutting at my skin, and I wasn't going down anymore, my body was floating up, through the soft air. Then it changed direction and I was flying, flying so fast that it seemed unreal.  
  
I first thought that this was the feeling of life rushing before your eyes as you are about to die, but it wasn't. It didn't feel like a death fantasy. It felt like...  
  
A dream.  
  
I opened my eyes carefully and saw that my arms were enclosed rightly around a pair of sturdy shoulders. They were covered in red material and draped with web patterns. The muscles underneath flexed as Spider Man shot his web into the air, carrying both of us through the concrete canyons of New York City. I had stopped screaming.  
  
"Enjoying the ride?" A voice whispered tenderly in my ear as the streets and buildings passed by below us. I lifted my head up enough to look at him. There was laughter in his voice. Perhaps he was laughing at me, so helpless and scared stupid, or maybe he was merely celebrating his victory, just another one to add to the list.  
  
I held onto him tightly and smiled.  
  
~*~  
  
Something in me didn't want it to end when we landed in the sky top garden. We stumbled a bit and nearly fell in each other's arms as we stopped on the grass.  
  
"Well, beats taking the subway," he said as I steadied my feet. His voice was so young and playful that, despite everything that took place just a few minutes ago, I had to grin. A young couple was making out on a stone bench a few yards away. Spotting us, they quickly stood up.  
  
"Don't mind us," Spider Man called to them. "She just needs to use the elevator."  
  
Without another word, he headed for the edge of the structure. I stopped him hastily.  
  
"Who are you?" I blurted out. I probably should have said 'thank you', but curiosity was gnawing at my mind.  
  
He gave me a wistful look and said, "you know who I am."  
  
The seriousness in his tone was such a sudden change that I was a little taken back. "I do?"  
  
"You friendly neighborhood Spider Man!" The teasing smile almost shun through the mask as he broke away from me.  
  
He ran and leaped into the air. I followed quickly and was just in time to see him swing through the air into the distance, whooping like a child on a swing.  
  
Even long after he disappeared, I still stood there, leaning over the edge of the garden, looking into the direction he went. The feeling of soaring through the air in his embrace stayed with me for a long time. His strength, his bravery, and the playfulness in his voice made me feel dazed and dreamy. Something about him filled my head with the sensation that a princess must have after been rescued by her knight in shining armor. Just his touch made me tingle all over. There was only one word for him: amazing.  
  
I wished, however impossible it was, that he would come back, so I could tell him that, and thank him for saving my life, and remove his mask slowly, to see what incredible man wore such a disguise.  
  
I also wanted to know why he seemed so comfortingly familiar to me. 


	9. Section 9

NOTE: if u think i'm writing fast now, wait till u hear the truth. I've actually just finished chapter eleven. But i like posting them slow, so there. :P  
  
Section 9  
  
I had kicked off my shoes and simply left them in the hall when I got home. Mom and George were still on their latest road trip down south, and the house was silent and dark. I didn't turn on a single light.  
  
The expensive dress Harry bought me was hanging carelessly on the back of a chair as I let down my hair and changed into more comfortable cloth. My hair was still stiff from the hairspray and was a little difficult to manage as I pulled a large T-shirt on. I thought about putting on pants, but the air conditioner was broken again and my room was getting hot and musty. So I flopped onto bed wearing nothing but the T-shirt and panties.  
  
When I closed my eyes, he appeared again, strong and mysterious, like a phantom in the shadows of New York. And his voice kept ringing in my ears in the form of a melodious echo. For some unknown reason, five words sounded the loudest of all.  
  
You know who I am...  
  
You know who I am...  
  
You know who I am...  
  
Even though I knew he was merely playing with me, a part of my mind insisted that there was more to it than that. A little voice kept telling me to read between the lines, to figure out what he really meant.  
  
"Am I thinking too much?" I whispered into the darkness. No answers came. Instead, more memories flooded my mind. His touch, his words, and the way he selflessly came to the rescue of all those people. And that spark of hope I felt when I saw him was indescribable. When Harry went down, I  
  
wait.  
  
I sat up in a bolt. Harry. I'd completely forgotten about Harry! The image from the balcony flashed before my eyes. The last time I had seen him he was hurt and unconscious on the cold stone, how could I forget about him?  
  
Suddenly nervous, I reached for the phone on my bed stand. It rang just as I placed my fingers on it. Surprised, I pulled my hand back quickly, knocking the receiver off the hook. It hung a few inches from the ground, swinging on its cord.  
  
"Hello?" as voice said. "M.J.? Are you there?"  
  
You know who I am...  
  
Unsure of why those words suddenly popped into my head, I grabbed the receiver and spoke into it hastily.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"M.J.? It's Peter."  
  
Hearing Peter's voice made me both relieved and worried. Listening to him talk was always comforting, but why was he calling and not Harry? What if...  
  
"M.J.? You O.K.?"  
  
I shook myself mentally. "Yes, I'm fine, Peter. Is Harry O.K.?"  
  
"Hold on." There was some shuffling in the background before I heard Peter again. "Hey Harry! You alive?" More shuffling. "He'll be here in a minute. He's icing his head again. He, uh, he meant to call you but they gave him some painkillers that made him woozy for a while."  
  
I let out a deep breath. "Good, I was worried."  
  
A pause. "So... are you all right, M.J.?"  
  
"Of course," I nodded into the phone.  
  
"What happened? I saw this weird guy flying around on... something. Then everything just went to pot. You were on the balcony, weren't you?"  
  
You know who I am...  
  
"Yeah, and I almost fell off. It was scary."  
  
Peter chuckled on the other end. "You don't sound very scared."  
  
Suddenly, I felt dreamy again. The feeling of Spider Man's arms around me flowed back again. Just thinking about it made me feel warm all over. "I didn't need to be."  
  
"Something happened?"  
  
"Spider Man came."  
  
"Yeah?" Peter said teasingly. "What'd he do? Carry you off like a knight in shining armor?"  
  
I felt heat on my face. "...in a way."  
  
The other end clicked, and a clattering sound filled the receiver. Then Peter's voice came back again. "Harry, hold up! ...fine, go ahead." Another clatter. "Harry can't wait. Here he is. Take care, M.J."  
  
"Bye, Peter." Before I even finished my sentence, Harry's voice emerged on the other end.  
  
"Hello? M.J.? Are you O.K.? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?"  
  
His nervous babbling struck me as humorous for some reason. "Harry, relax," I said, laughing. "I'm fine, how about you?"  
  
"I'm good," he said, sounding a little relieved but still weary. "I have a cut on my head, that's it. What happened to you, M.J.? I was so worried when that balcony fell over. How'd you get down?"  
  
"Spider Man."  
  
There was a long pause on the other end. "Spider Man?"  
  
"He saved me," I said, feeling like a little girl dreaming about a movie star she so heartily desires. "He saved my life, Harry. I, I fell and there he was. He caught me in midair and we just... flew, through the city. It was amazing, Harry. He was... incredible."  
  
Another pause. "Incredible? What do you mean he's incredible?"  
  
"Nothing, Harry, just incredible," I twirled a finger around a strange of stiff hair. "I'm gonna go to bed now, bye."  
  
"No, wait," he said quickly. "All right, stay there, I'm gonna come over."  
  
"I'm fine, Harry," I said, hoping to sound convincing. "I'll see you later."  
  
"No," he insisted. "I'm gonna come over."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "It's late. We're both fine, aren't we? We'll talk tomorrow."  
  
He finally gave in. "All right, fine," he said a little dejectedly. "Fine, call me in the morning and, and we'll go and have breakfast and I wanna buy you something."  
  
"Why would you want to do that?" Spoken like a rich boy, I thought sarcastically, and immediately scolded myself for it. This was how Harry handled things and I should feel lucky that he cared enough to do so.  
  
"Because I want to," he said lamely. "It'll make you feel better. And, like, what do you mean incredible?"  
  
"Harry!"  
  
"All right, sorry, sleep tight."  
  
"Night, Harry." I hung up the phone before he could make another lame attempt to "comfort" me. It might have been rude, but I truly needed no comforting.  
  
That night I laid in bed and slept like I never had before. I dreamed about spiders again. They were all over the sky, crawling around the black fabric of the galaxy, their bodies shining like stars. There was no earth in my dream, only space, and me. And him. He was there, welcoming me with open arms. We embraced in the black eternity as I lifted his mast slowly. Yet, he held me so tight that I would not left my eyes to see his face. So I pressed my cheek to his and felt his hot skin against mine. Our bodies were so close that I could not only hear but feel his heart beating inches from mine.  
  
And he kept saying to me, in a voice that was both so familiar and so foreign, "you know who I am, you know who I am, you know who I am..."  
  
~*~  
  
Harry did end up buying me something. It was a gorgeous gold-plated watch with bits of diamond decor around the watch face. Every time he did something like this, I felt guiltier about not hiding anything from him. I watched as he placed the watch on my wrist and closed the clasp.  
  
"It looks great on you," he said and grasped my hand. "Are you sure you're O.K.?"  
  
I smiled slightly. "I'm fine, really. You didn't have to go through all this trouble."  
  
"I wanted to," he replied. A waiter passed by our table. Harry gestured for him. "Hey, can we get a refill on the drinks? Thanks."  
  
"How's your head?" I asked as the waiter walked away. There was a large bandage on the side of his head where it was struck yesterday. He touched it self-consciously.  
  
"Not bad. It itched like crazy last night, but not too bad."  
  
The waiter came back and placed a new iced tea in front of me. I stirred it absently. "Too bad I didn't get to meet your dad."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Just bad luck. He didn't show up at all. Didn't even answer when I called him this morning."  
  
I shrugged. "But considering what happened, maybe it's better that he didn't come. I mean, did you see what happened to those people? He could've been there."  
  
"I guess you're right." Harry began to fill out the bill. "Still, I don't understand why he wasn't there. I mean, he's supposed to be hosting the whole thing."  
  
"Like you always said, Harry, he's a busy man."  
  
"I DO want him to meet you, M.J."  
  
"There'll be other occasions."  
  
He thought at it for a while. "How about this?" he said, suddenly excited. "Peter and I were thinking about having a Thanksgiving thing in our apartment. We can get together. You and my dad could be there and you can just get to know each other. Of course, Aunt May will be there, too. It'll be great."  
  
The only thing I could do was nod. Meeting his father actually seemed very scary to me, like been put on trial for the first time. But the anxious look on his face made me swallow any unpleasant thoughts. Unconsciously, I fingered the beautiful watch on my wrist and wondered how much I truly liked Harry, and how much of it was guilt.  
  
At least Peter would be there.  
  
~*~  
  
My mother and George came back two days later. Luckily, I had managed to hide all the expensive things Harry bought for me before they walked in the door. George took a lazy glance at me, grunted, and resumed his usual position on the couch. Mom, however, seemed rather energetic.  
  
"How have you been, Mary?" she said excitedly, throwing her luggage on the floor.  
  
"Great. How was your trip, mom?" Not that I cared, but anything to take her mind off the subject of my love life.  
  
"Oh terrific, just terrific. We went down South. It's so much warmer there. How's your job going?"  
  
I began to pick up her stuff. "Good. I'll be out late on Friday. Got an audition."  
  
She eyes brightened up. "Really? Well, that's just wonderful. You know, when you make it big, we'll all be getting such a taste of luxury."  
  
I just nodded. "Yeah. Anyway, I'll be pretty late. Around eleven or so." Truthfully, the audition will end around 8:30, but Harry insisted on taking me out to dinner to celebrate my getting the part, not knowing that it just put more pressure on me.  
  
She smiled. "Take as long as you need. Do you have anything decent to wear? You need to dress nice if you're gonna get the part."  
  
"Mom," I rolled my eyes, "it's a soap opera, you're supposed to dress casual."  
  
"Whatever you want, Mary, just do WELL." She headed for the kitchen. "You want something to eat?"  
  
"I ate," I called to her and went for the stairs. "I'm gonna go rehearse now."  
  
"By the way," she shouted to me. "Me and George are planned a little trip on Thanksgiving week, you wanna come?"  
  
"No thank you."  
  
"You'll be alone then. That O.K.?"  
  
"That's great." I closed the door to my room, sat down on the bed, and thought about Harry's suggestion. "Great, just great."  
  
~*~  
  
The director took off his shades and rubbed his eyes before putting the back on. It was a sign of impatience and frustration. This was not a good thing. I suddenly felt very unlucky to have a last name so far back in the alphabet. The thick script ruffled through my fingers, making a raspberry sound. The girl sitting next to me with a Bay Watch figure gave me an annoyed look. I cleared my throat and looked away.  
  
The script had cost quite a bit to buy. I had to put in several days salary to get it, just so I could practice for the part.  
  
The Bay Watch girl pulled out a make-up case and began to apply a thick layer of powder. She was beautiful and perfectly sexy, with a designer outfit. This was only my first audition. It was probably her hundredth. She had the look of experience and slightly snobby attitude. She looked at me the way a perfectly primped poodle would look at a gutter dog.  
  
"So what part are you trying out for?"  
  
She didn't even bother to look away from her mirror. "Cindy Hart."  
  
"Yeah?" I turned to her, tried to sound friendly. "The lead?"  
  
"'Course," she tossed me a sideway-glance. "Is there anything else worth trying out for? I had to cancel a date to be here."  
  
"Oh." I looked up onto the stage, where a guy a couple of years older than me was reading the part for the lead male part. He was good, and looked as experienced as the Bay Watch girl, which meant he was a lot better than me. "I'm trying out for Kat Gorier."  
  
She shoved the powder case back into her Prada purse and pulled out a lipstick.  
  
"I hope I make it."  
  
"Molly Peterson," the director called, fanning himself with a piece of paper. "For the part of Cindy Hart."  
  
The girl stood up and paused before heading for the stage. "Good luck, red," she said.  
  
"Thank you. You, too."  
  
"You misunderstand," she said. "Luck is for those who need it." A sarcastic smile formed on her perfect lips. "So, good luck."  
  
The director gazed at us. "Hurry up, I haven't got all day."  
  
I watched the girl called Molly Peterson walk up to the stage and begin to recite her lines. She didn't even need a script, and her voice was perfect. The character of Cindy Hart was a total opposite to her personality-modest, kind, a little dull and shy, but even after speaking to her, she still made the perfect match for the part.  
  
A sigh escaped me as I gazed down at my script again. I was so sick of reading it, so tired of been paranoid, and getting wearier each time a new person stepped onto that stage. They all seemed better than me, more experienced, more in touch with their parts. And here I sit, Plain Jane, never gonna be a lady, never gonna be an actress.  
  
I sat back and stared at the low ceiling of the audition room, making shapes out of the patterns of blotchy paint. A couple of bumps linked together looked like a rabbit in a dress. One corner reminded of a sunflower. And one...  
  
Looked like a spider.  
  
Dreaminess flooded my senses again. I felt my body floating through the air, just as it had on that uneventful day that had turned out so wonderful. I remembered the first time I had seen that movie, Titanic, and thought that it was so corny for Rose to stand there and say "I'm flying, Jack." But now, after soaring through the canyons of New York in his arms, nothing felt the same way anymore. Me, a girl who had always believed romance was for cheap novels, was spending her time daydreaming about a handsome stranger sweeping me off my feet.  
  
And for some odd reason, every time I thought about him, I thought about Peter Parker. Maybe it was because he gave me the safe feeling of safety and reassurance Spider Man did on that day. He was always there for me and that was something I really appreciated. It was a quality found in few guys nowadays.  
  
There was something else, too.  
  
The feeling of been in Spider Man's arms that day reminded me of last year, the day after the fieldtrip to the museum with spiders. I had slipped in the cafeteria and Peter had caught me in the flash of a second. That event had escaped my mind for a long time, but on that day, it had suddenly come back to me and now I couldn't forget.  
  
Molly had finished her lines and stepped down. She stopped by the director, stooped and whispered something to him. Looked a little like she was trying to place her chest as close to his face as possible, but at that point she could give him a lap dance for I care.  
  
My mind was turning quickly, wondering from one thing to the next.  
  
Harry, what about Harry?  
  
I hadn't been able to admit it before, but recently I was beginning to come to terms with my feelings. I did care for Harry, but why couldn't I tell him anything? I couldn't tell him about my job, my hopes, my dreams, but I could tell Peter anything. Does that count as cheating? Seemed like with every passing day I had more to feel guilty about and living a life takes more effort.  
  
"Mary Watson," called a tried voice. "For the part of Kat Gorier. Come on."  
  
This was it.  
  
For the first time since I was told about the audition, I felt I wasn't ready. Some part of me wanted to turn and run out before they realized who I was.  
  
"Mary Watson?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, I stood up and grabbed my script. The few short steps to the stage felt like the death march. The director looked over his list then up at me.  
  
"Mary Watson?"  
  
"Mary Jane."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Uh, I go by Mary Jane."  
  
He rubbed his temples. "Whatever. Just go, read your lines. You can put your script down over on that chair."  
  
I started. "What?"  
  
"Put your script down. You don't act with a script. Now put it down and do the monologue."  
  
My heart pounded as I set down the script and took my position.  
  
"Good, now start."  
  
I thought hard and began to move, trying my best to remember the lines. "My heart goes out to you, but you are not the one I love." A pause. Walk to the right. "The years have been long, but I will wait for him to come back." Step, turn. "I can't betray him. I know you went through a lot to come to me, but... um..." I felt sweat form on my forehead. "Uh..."  
  
The director drummed his fingers on his desk.  
  
"But some things aren't meant to be," I said quickly. "You may stay with me for this evening, but when the sunrises, I hope that you will have left, gone out of my life, and returned to Cindy." Five long seconds passed as I struggled to remember. "She deserves your affection, I don't. Love just can't be forced." I lowered my head, hoping it looked as dramatic as I hoped. "Go now."  
  
"Miss Watson," the director said. I looked up at him anxiously. "Why are you here?"  
  
"Um, to try out?"  
  
"You should've saved your time," he said. "You may have talent. You may have potential, but you certainly didn't show that today."  
  
I went for my script. "But..."  
  
"A word of advice, Miss Watson," he interrupted. "Take an acting lesson before your next audition, if there is one."  
  
Heat welled up on my face as I heard snickering from the other people. Molly Peterson was looking at me with a smug sneer on her face. My head hurt all of a sudden as I bolted off the stage and out the doors. 


	10. Section 10

Section 10  
  
The sky was already dark when I walked out of the dumpy brick building where the auditions were been held. The air was humid and stuff. I began to fan myself with whatever was in my hand only to find that it was the script I never got to use. Angrily, I threw it into a trashcan sitting nearby and headed down the street.  
  
"Hey!" a voice called from behind me. I turned, ready to tell whoever it was to buzz off, on to find Peter. "It's me again."  
  
Not wanting him to know about my hideous experience, I smiled at him. "Hey."  
  
He grinned cheerfully. "How was your audition?"  
  
So much for keeping it a secret. "How'd you know?"  
  
He shrugged comically. "The hotline. You mom told my aunt told me."  
  
I laughed. It felt good to do so. "So you just came by?"  
  
"I was in the neighborhood," he replied casually, "needed to see a friendly face. I took two buses and a cab to get in the neighborhood, but..." A slightly embarrassed look appeared in his eyes. "So how'd it go?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "They said I needed acting lessons. A SOAP OPERA told me I needed acting lessons."  
  
Peter laughed lightly and I suddenly felt more at ease than I had been since the news of the audition. "Well, let me buy you a cheeseburger," he said. "Sky's the limit. Up to seven dollars and..." he thought it over. "Eighty-four cents."  
  
"I'd like a cheeseburger," I said, smiling. A careless night out would have been the perfect thing. Unfortunately, it occurred to me that I had other engagement. "Oh, but I'm going out to dinner with Harry."  
  
He looked away a little, disappointment in his eyes. I immediately regretting making that date with Harry so early.  
  
"Come with us."  
  
Peter shook his head. "No thanks." He paused. "How's it going with..." I looked at him and he stopped. "Never mind, it's none of my business."  
  
"It's not?" I gave him a prying glance. "Why so interested?"  
  
He might have blushed, but I couldn't tell in the dim streetlights. "I'm not."  
  
Something about the expression on his face made me curious all of a sudden. "You're not?"  
  
"Well," he shrugged. "Why would I be?"  
  
Why would he be? "I don't know. Why would you be?"  
  
He grinned. "I donno."  
  
For a moment we just looked at each other. It seemed to last a long time, but finally I borke the silence. "Sorry you won't come with us." He nodded. Above us, lightning struck, lighting the whole sky up to a icy gray color. Thunder followed, rumbling in the distance. I flash him one last smile. "I better run, tiger."  
  
As I walked down the street, I was dimly aware that he was still there, watching me go. I replayed my final words in my head. "Tiger". I had no idea where I came up with that, but somehow it felt so right.  
  
Tiger.  
  
Tiger.  
  
Sounded like Spider.  
  
The first drop of rain struck my hand. I shook it off and walked quicker, hoping to get to the bus stop before it began to pour. But I guess luck wasn't with me that day, because the rain came down like a waterfall before I was even halfway there. Puddles formed on the road almost immediately. It was getting cold and I felt my hair clinging to my scalp. I held my purse close and began to pick up my pace, hoping it wouldn't get wet.  
  
That was when I realized there were other footsteps around me, picking up their paces as I did. I slowed a little and they did, too. Panic seized me as I burst into a run. Whoever was behind me also began to run. Many pairs of feet trotted through the puddles behind me. There was more than one person on the street.  
  
And they were following me.  
  
~*~  
  
Turned out there were four men.  
  
There was a narrow alley to the end of the street. If I had remembered correctly, it led to a crowded square, where there were bound to be lots of people hanging around. The four behind me were apparent of ill will. I made a swift turn into the darkness, hoping to either lose them or come out in the square before they get any ideas.  
  
I remembered wrong.  
  
There was nothing in the alley save for broken buildings and the street was flooded from the rain. I was soaked to the bone and the rainwater hanging onto my eyelashes made it hard to see. When I turned, hoping to back out, four dark figures came on all sides of me and cut off the way. Feeling like a trapped rabbit, I tried to dart off into any opening available, but they didn't allow it.  
  
"Where're you going, baby?" one of the men said. "Come on!"  
  
Two of them drew apart for a second and I ran in that direction and almost made it out of their circle when a hand clamped down on my arm and pulled me back almost hard enough to jerk my arm out of its socket. I cried out and struggled, only to be held down from the other side. Using every bit of strength I had, I wrenched myself forward and fell against the cold side of a brick wall.  
  
Another man came up against the wall, approached me, and made kissing sounds with his lips.  
  
"Get off me!" I shrieked desperately and kicked him. Perhaps it was luck, but my foot struck him in a very painful place. He yelped and glared at me with anger.  
  
Suddenly, many hands were on me. They pinned me against the wall. I should have felt lucky, because there was a broken window on either side of me. They could have shoved my face against broken glass. I felt very cold as they pulled off my jacket and threw it aside. Rain was pouring down heavier than ever, pounding on my skin. A hand pinched my breast from the side. I screamed, hoping someone would hear.  
  
One man let go of me abruptly. I saw his hand go to his pocket and pull out an object.  
  
It was a switchblade.  
  
Tears streamed down my face as I anticipated its touch.  
  
One man let out a yelping sound. Followed by another. In a flash all the weight was off my back. I heard the switchblade clatter to the ground. Part of my mind questioned what was happening. The rest of me already knew the answer.  
  
There was a single broken streetlight in the alley. Through the pouring rain I saw him crouching on top of the post, four strings of white web protruding from his hand. Like a skilled fisherman handling his net, he pulled the four men across the street on their backs, away from me.  
  
With a single leap, he jumped off the streetlight and landed on his feet in front of them and held a battle pose, undisturbed by the fact that he was outnumbered. One of the men went for him. He didn't move, but waited until the man was almost at him. Smoothly, he jumped and rolled over the other man's back. Before the other realized what happened, he was dealt a swift blow and went down.  
  
Two more went for him. I couldn't see exactly what happened but the next thing I knew they were both flying toward me. They struck wall on either side, each smashing into a window. Over the sound of the rain and breaking glass, I heard myself laugh.  
  
The last one didn't give up. He charged, attacking wildly, only to find he bit off more than he could chew. He received a hit, then another. Finally, he went for Spider Man with all he had. I watched Spider man catch the man by his check and, silhouetted against the thunder and lightning, lift him off the ground.  
  
Several seconds passed when they just stood there. Rain poured down on all of us. At that moment I noticed that water was pouring down Spider Man's hair and running down his face. He wasn't wearing his mask.  
  
With a disgusted sigh, he tossed the man, who was now unconscious, onto the street.  
  
Heart pounding, I jogged toward him. He took a look at me, turned, and went behind a dark corner.  
  
"Wait!" I called and caught up to him. But the alley he went into was silent and empty. The world seemed to have quieted down as I stood there, feeling the rain come down on me, wondering where he had gone to so quickly.  
  
"You have a knack for getting in trouble," a playful voice said from behind. I laughed with sudden delight and turned to face it. There he was, hanging upside down on a single strand of web. His mask was back on again and he was soaked, too.  
  
"You have a knack for saving my life," I said jokingly. "I think I have a super hero stalker."  
  
"I was in the neighborhood," he said with a smooth serenity that made the whole thing unreal.  
  
I gazed into his face and felt as if I could actually see into his eyes, as if his mask wasn't even there. "You are... amazing."  
  
"Some people don't think so." The childishness in his voice reminded me of the dream I had just a few nights ago. He was a great hero, a savior of the people, and yet, he spoke with such innocence and insecurity.  
  
"But you are."  
  
"Nice to have a fan," he said slowly.  
  
The rain seemed to have hushed. Everything seemed so far away as I edged a little closer to him. "Do I get to say thank you this time?"  
  
He didn't reply, but my beating heart told me to go for it. Gingerly, I reached for him.  
  
"Wait," he whispered. I drew back a little, thinking he didn't want me to do it, but right away saw what he meant. He was looking at me as intensely as I did him and I could hear nothing but the shallow breathing coming from both of us.  
  
I touched his neck, found the edge of the mask, and pulled it down.  
  
His chin was strong and smooth. The skin felt firm as my fingers glided across it. I pulled the mask down more. He was shaking almost as hard as I was. His lips were quivering slightly. I touched his face with both hands and slowly drew myself close.  
  
The moment our lips touched, the world ceased to exist. All my senses seemed to have shut down save for the incredible touch on my lips. He kissed me softly at first, then harder, as if pouring all of his passion into it, savoring the moment just as I was. His kiss was like a lock, holding me in eternity, suspending me in time.  
  
I felt rain running down my skin, felt my cloth and hair clinging to me, and felt the unpleasant chill on my legs and arms. But none of it mattered. The warmth he gave me was more than enough to overcome everything else. Together, we joined each other, trembling together in the cold New York streets.  
  
For those precious few seconds, nothing mattered. Even if the world came to an end, I wouldn't have cared, because as long as he was there, I felt like I could take on the universe with no fear.  
  
All too soon, we parted. I pulled away from him and brushed his chin with my lips, then pulled his mask over the lower half of his face again.  
  
A strand of web shot out of his hand and in a second he was gone, disappeared into the rain and night. I gazed up into the sky, in the direction he went. The rain pouring down on me looked like stars. I felt like I was traveling through space, flying forever without a trouble on my mind.  
  
I laughed. Amidst the thunder, lightning, and pounding rain, I laughed into the night. All the water in the world could not drown my beating heart.  
  
~*~  
  
Some time passed before I snapped back into reality. I found myself sitting on a moving bus, dripping like a wet duck and not caring. What brought me back was the ringing cell phone in my purse. Surprisingly, it had not broken through the tussles. Absently, I turned it on and brought it to my ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"M.J.?" Harry's worried voice came from the other end. "Where are you? Are you O.K.?"  
  
I had to think for a moment before answering. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Well, you're half and hour late. I've been waiting here at the restaurant. Do you need me to pick you up somewhere?"  
  
"Um..." I looked out the window into the rainy night. "No thanks."  
  
"You sure? When can you get here?"  
  
I sighed. "Sorry I won't be going to dinner, Harry. I'm... not in the mood."  
  
"You didn't get the part, did you?" he said sympathetically. "Oh, M.J., I'm sorry."  
  
"Uh, yeah, that's right." Truthfully, that was the last thing on my mind at the moment. "So, yeah, I'm not really in the mood for anything. Sorry."  
  
"Don't worry about it. You're gonna be O.K.?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll talk to you later, Harry."  
  
"Take care of yourself," he said, "there'll be other auditions."  
  
"I know. I'm fine, really. Bye."  
  
"Bye, M.J."  
  
He might have said something else but I didn't hear. I hung up the phone and placed it back into my purse, which was still soaked wet. The plastic seat under me was full of water and my shoes felt like old seaweed wrapped around my feet. Yet, somehow, they all felt comfortable on the cold, stale bus.  
  
An elderly woman sat across from me. We were the only two people on the whole bus. She gave me an odd look as she wrapped her thick jacket around her body tightly.  
  
"Aren't you cold, young lady?" she said curiously.  
  
I smiled at her. My wet jacket was sitting in a pile on the seat next to me and the only thing covering my torso was a pink damp tank top. Wind was whistling into the bus from a windowpane that was missing its glass.  
  
"Not really," I shook my head.  
  
"Oh, but you'll catch a cold, dear."  
  
"Maybe," I said dreamily as the bus came to a halt at my stop. "But right now I feel like I'm on fire."  
  
She shook her head. "You're either crazy," she said, "or you're in love."  
  
In love.  
  
Those words struck me like a lightning bolt.  
  
Love.  
  
"Maybe," I told her, giggling as I did, "maybe I'm in love. I think I'm in love with a bug."  
  
The old woman must have looked at me like I had two heads when I stepped off the bus, and why not, I would have done the same. But it didn't matter, because I had never felt so light on my feet as I walked down the dark streets toward home. For once, the thought of going home didn't seem so horrid.  
  
Even the world felt different on this magical night. Every time something flew by overhead, be it a bird or a plane, I imagined that it was him, swinging above me and looking down like a guardian angel. Who knows, perhaps that's what he really was, a webbed angel of the modern world.  
  
The rain had stopped and the air had never smelled so fresh. I was almost home before I realized that I had left my jacket on the bus. Didn't matter, it was old and, after tonight, ruined, anyway. I broke into a run down the street.  
  
I kissed him. I actually kissed him. And not only that, he kissed me back. Incredible didn't even come close to describe the feeling in my heart. It felt real and unreal at the same time. Was it his dream or mine?  
  
It didn't matter.  
  
Someone was standing on the sidewalk, gazing into the sky. It was the familiar form of Aunt May. She looked over in my direction as I approached her.  
  
"Hello, dear," she said warmly.  
  
"Hi, Aunt May," I replied, "What are you doing out here?"  
  
She shifted her gaze back into the sky. "I'm looking for my husband."  
  
"Uncle Ben?"  
  
Slowly, she lifted her hand and pointed at a shiny star. "Sometimes, especially on clear nights, I think I can see him, looking down at me. Clear nights are rare in the city." She lowered her hand. "You much think it's so silly."  
  
I shook my head. "No, I don't think it's silly, Aunt May. Maybe, every now and then, there are people looking down at us from the sky."  
  
She smiled. "You're back awfully early, dear. Did your audition end already?"  
  
I shrugged. "Yeah. Didn't go very well, though. I didn't get the part."  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear."  
  
"It doesn't matter, really," I told her. "I don't think I would have gotten along with the other people anyway."  
  
"You don't sound very disappointed."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
Aunt May looked at me closely. "Is this what you want, Mary Jane?"  
  
I started. "What?"  
  
"I mean is this what you truly want to do with your life?"  
  
"Sure, I mean, I've always wanted to act."  
  
"You were a child then. Now, you're all grown up. You don't have to make yourself follow your childhood fantasy."  
  
"But I do want to act!" I cried. "I think."  
  
"I watched you grow up, Mary Jane," Aunt May said, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. "And just from what I've seen, you're better than just some soap opera off the streets. Do you ever think that maybe you're meant for bigger things?"  
  
"I..."  
  
"But maybe that's just me," a small grin appeared on her face, "I just want you to make the right choice, Mary Jane." The hand on my shoulder slid off. "Now, go on home, get a good night's sleep, dear."  
  
"Aunt May..."  
  
"Good night, sweetie," she turned and walked away, looking back to give me a quick smile.  
  
"Good night."  
  
~*~  
  
My mother was on me as soon as I walked in the door.  
  
"Mary!" she exclaimed, getting up from her spot on the couch. George just grunted. "How's my future Broadway star?"  
  
"Huh?" I looked at her and took a second to interpret what she was talking about. Too many things were racing across my mind. "Oh yeah. I didn't get the part."  
  
"What? Why not?"  
  
I shrugged and headed upstairs. "Who knows, maybe it's not for me."  
  
As the door to my room slammed shut behind me, I heard George say, "told you she was no good."  
  
That night I didn't sleep. Couldn't. Two things kept playing in my mind as I watched the moon glide from one side of the sky to the other: Aunt May's words, and Spider Man's kiss.  
  
NOTE: I am well aware that MJ is destined to become and actress, but the way they portrayed her in the movie, I just thought she was too nice and down-to-earth to be an actress. So here it is. Make of it what u will. 


	11. Section 11

Section 11  
  
The knocking on my door woke me up. I fumbled around, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and searching for the clock. It was 9:15 and I had fifteen minutes to get ready for work. I groaned and propped myself up on the bed.  
  
The knocking came again.  
  
"Come in, mom," I mumbled, running a finger through my hair. It was coarse and stuck together in strands after the evening I spent in the rain. Just the thought of last night brought a smile to my face as the door creaked open.  
  
"Somebody's on the phone for you, Mary," my mother said. I could detect a tingle of excitement in her voice, meaning she was hoping it's a rich boy, and it probably was.  
  
"Okay, I'll be down in a minute."  
  
After she closed the door behind her I realized that I was extremely uncomfortable. I had fallen asleep sometime around dawn in the damp cloth I had on yesterday and my whole body felt itchy. I peeled off everything on me quickly, right down to the underwear, and slipped on my waitress uniform.  
  
Mom was waiting at the end of the stairwell when I came down. She handed me the cordless phone.  
  
"Hello? Ha..." I looked at my mother, who was staring at me expectantly. "Uh, hold on. I'll take this in my room, mom." Without another word, I turned and walked back up the stairs.  
  
"Wait, Mary... Who is i..." I closed the door to my room.  
  
"Hi, Harry."  
  
"Morning, M.J.," he said cheerfully. "Feeling better?"  
  
"Better?" Oh yeah, the audition. "Yeah, much better."  
  
"Have you thought about what we talked about last time?"  
  
"Last time?"  
  
"At breakfast."  
  
I searched my memories and drew a blank. The only thing I'd been doing since getting home was reliving that incredible moment.  
  
Harry sighed on the other end and I detected disappointment. "Sometimes I don't know where your head is, M.J.," he said, "Seems like you never listen to anything but the little voices in your head." Those words just made me feel worse, about everything in general.  
  
"Sorry, Harry, I don't remember." Suddenly, something clicked. "Oh, wait."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thanksgiving?"  
  
"Good, you do remember." He paused. "Well? Do you want to do it?"  
  
Honestly, I didn't. Meeting his father was as scary a thought as ever, and after last night... well, however guilty it made me feel, I had to admit that I no longer knew how I felt about Harry.  
  
"M.J.? You still there?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Well? Do you want to do it?"  
  
"Can I get back to you?"  
  
"Oh. Sure, yeah." He sounded frustrated, almost as frustrated as I felt. "All right, take care, M.J."  
  
"You, too. Bye, Harry." As I hung up the phone, I felt a headache coming on.  
  
~*~  
  
That day at work was nothing but a disillusion. I wondered from one table to the next in a dreamy, dazed state, not really knowing what I was doing. Thankfully, Enrique had come down with a cold and spent most of the day dozing in the back room, which left me alone to my thoughts.  
  
My heart felt as if it was been split in a thousand different ways at once. I cared for Harry, that was a fact, but how much? Enough to meet his father and take this relationship to next level, or just enough to hang around for a while and just end up been friends? I appreciated him and everything he did and tried to do for me, but was that what I really wanted? After meeting his father, would I feel enough for him to be with him for months? Years? Forever? Sometimes I felt that was what he wanted. Harry was not one to fool around. I felt bad just for thinking this at all.  
  
Then there was Spider Man.  
  
Somehow he was there, just in time, when I needed him. After he did, he could have just left, the way he did after each of his good deeds. But instead, he stuck around, hanging up side down inches from me, and talking to me just because.  
  
And when I touched him, he didn't shrink away.  
  
And when I kissed him for those wondrous moments, he kissed me back. And that kiss said a lot about him. It wasn't a kiss of experience that high school jocks liked to deal out, or a light, unfeeling peck. It was like a first kiss. THE first kiss. The one that a young person would remember for the rest of his or her life.  
  
He had so much passion, so much maturity, and yet he had the carefree spirit of a child, one who would go on playing forever, and love unconditionally.  
  
But, another part of my mind argued, how was I supposed to know that?  
  
After all, I had spoken less than fifty words to him all together, and a kiss could say everything and nothing at the same time. If I was wrong, if he was not the man I held in my mind, then what?  
  
At least Harry was here. He was real.  
  
And so was Peter.  
  
Everything I couldn't tell Harry, I told Peter. He was always there somehow, not unlike Spider Man. My hopes, my dreams, my insecurities... I had never confessed in such a way to Harry because we were, well, too different. I always felt like I would never be part of Harry's world. It was just too hard a bridge to cross.  
  
"Yo! Miss Watson!" I snapped back to reality at Enrique's voice. She was glaring at me from across the room. "I been calling you name forever. Table four's been screaming for their order! Whatcha doing? Wigging out on me?" He sneezed. "I need nap. Get back to work!"  
  
"Yes, Enrique," I sighed, not in the mood to come up with any remarks. Dejected, I went to serve the table I'd been ignoring. Needless to say, I didn't get much of a tip from them that day.  
  
~*~  
  
Finally, finally, the day that seemed to go on for eternity ended. The Moon Dance cafe's dinner crowd had just left when I headed out its doors.  
  
"M.J.! Wait up!" the voice belonged to Brenda, another waitress who covered the dinner shift. She caught up with me and placed an envelope on my hand. "What's the hurry? You forgot your paycheck."  
  
I gave her a tired smiled. "Thanks, Bre. I guess I just had other things on my mind."  
  
"Tell me about it," she rolled her eyes. "You know, I was watching you when you were waiting tables and sometimes you just, like, froze up in the middle of doing something. Seriously, what are you thinking about?"  
  
I tilted my head. "Oh, just things, I guess."  
  
Brenda shrugged. "Well, whatever. Listen, you wanna go get something to eat with me?"  
  
"Ugh, after smelling fast food all those hours if I never see food again it'd be too soon." I looked at the paycheck in my hand. "I guess I'll go to the bank and deposit this."  
  
"All right, I'll see you tomorrow then," she began to head down the street. "Bye, M.J."  
  
I waved to her and waited until she was out of my sight before crossing the road to the other side. I checked my watch, not the one Harry bought me, but an old watch I'd worn for the last three years. Its band had already begun to show signs of wear. The time was 7:30. I had half an hour to get to the bank before it closed.  
  
Hurried, I jogged down along the street and around the corner. It was getting dark, which made me nervous after last night. The twilight was at its max when I reached the bank's entrance two blocks away.  
  
The woman at one of the counters had the look of a beached shark. She looked up as I approached her, glanced at my dumpy waitress uniform and went back to her work. The look in her eyes was one of dismay.  
  
"Ex, excuse me," I stammered. "I need to deposit this check...?"  
  
She didn't even look up. "Do you have an account here?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Name?"  
  
"Mary Jane Watson."  
  
Still not making eye contact, she took the check, looked at it as if I might be fooling her with a fake one, then tapped a few times on the computer in front of her.  
  
"Okay, done. Have a nice day."  
  
There was an odd flapping sound coming from above me. I glanced up briefly through the skylight on the bank's ceiling. An object was flying through the sky. From where I stood, it resembled a helicopter.  
  
I turned back to the desk. "Uh, miss?"  
  
She didn't look up.  
  
"Miss?" Impatient, I tapped the desk in front of her. "Miss?"  
  
"What do you need?" From her tone, I supposed what she really wanted to say was 'what do you want?'  
  
"Could you tell me my balance?" My eyes flashed upward again. The object in the sky was still there, and louder too, which meant it's closer. It was definitely a helicopter.  
  
One of the other customers heard it, too. He glanced upward and said to his wife, "is that a news copter?"  
  
The woman in front of me sighed softly, probably thinking I didn't hear, then tapped on her computer again. "Your balance is $535.34. Have a nice day."  
  
Five hundred dollars. I worked for five days a week, for almost five month, to come up with a merely five hundred dollars. All the rest went to tax, bills and necessities. At his rate I'd have to quit school next semester, because I wouldn't be able to afford classes anymore. And acting lessons. What would I do about acting lessons?  
  
"Do you need anything ELSE?" the woman asked, and I realized that I was still staring in front of her desk, staring into space.  
  
"No, no thank you." I moved away from her.  
  
"Have a nice day."  
  
"Oh shove it," I mumbled and pushed open the glass door leading outside.  
  
Then the ceiling exploded.  
  
~*~  
  
The next thing I knew I was sprawled on the floor, covered in glass and debris. Screams and bullets filled the air. For a horrible moment my mind replayed the entirety of the World Unity Festival. Suddenly very frightened, my eyes darted around the room, expecting to see a man in green armor glide in from the hole in the roof on a flying disc and start throwing round grenades.  
  
But what I saw was two men dressed in black. They had lowered inside on ropes hooked up to their back. Above them, the helicopter I had spotted earlier hovered in the air, the wind from its blades blew everything in the room into the air like a cyclone.  
  
"All right! Nobody move!" one of the men shouted over the noise. "This is a stick-up!" His partner, who was a little taller than him and resembled a TV hit man, punched a few more bullets into the wall with this machine gun, just to show that they meant business. Paint chips sprayed from the walls as the bullets struck.  
  
The woman at the desk who was high and mighty just a minute ago was quivering behind her desk. I saw her inch her hand toward the phone.  
  
The shorter man who had just spoke whirled around and fired at her. She screamed and ducked out of the way. The phone burst into splinters of plastic and wire. "Didn't I tell you not to move?!"  
  
"Hands up!" Three security guards appeared from the back, pistols in hand. They aimed at the two robbers. Carefully, making as little sound as possible, I sat up and edged myself into a corner in case any shooting started. Several other customers were doing the same.  
  
The hit man look-alike didn't even bat an eye. He looked up and signaled at the helicopter. A moment later, an item dropped down from above. It resembled a metal block. He caught it and showed it to the guards.  
  
"I'm sure you've see one of these before," he said casually. "Ten minutes. You can load up the money in that time and let us go, or you can shoot us and see if the spark sets it off."  
  
There was silence in the bank save for the helicopter overhead. Finally, one of the guards brought the radio hooked up his belt up to his mouth. "Hold that back up," he said. "We have a situation. Do not shoot. I repeat, do not shoot."  
  
The shorter robber grinned a toothy grin and turned to the woman behind the desk. "O.K.," he said, taking a look at her nametag, "Joanna. Get a bag and put the money in it. Be quick if you wanna live to see yo next birthday."  
  
His partner pressed the button on the bomb. It began to count down from 10:00.  
  
All this time I sat there, wondering where was HE?  
  
~*~  
  
It was amazing how much speed someone could gain with the right motivation. Even before the counter hit 4, Joanna had bagged all the money she could access and placed it in front of the robbers. The hit man removed a hook from his belt and hooked the bags onto it. They were then drawn up to the copter as his partner kept the guards at bay with his gun. Sirens could be heard outside, and people speaking loudly, but no one came in. Everyone seemed to understand the "situation".  
  
Only six minutes had passed but it felt like an eternity. Up until they began to hook themselves up the copter, I didn't even realize that I had tensed every muscle in my body so hard it was painful. I breathed out a little and changed position, hoping it was finally over. They got their money and it seemed like they were leaving.  
  
The shorter man turned his gun on the guard with the radio. "Call your pals," he said, "and tell them not to even attempt to shoot. We have enough explosives to take out a city block up there."  
  
The guard sighed. The timer hit 3. He held up his radio again and said, "don't shoot, they have explosive. DO NOT SHOOT."  
  
"Good boy," the man said as his partner was pulled up to the helicopter. "Now, what do you say we make this more interesting?"  
  
Before the guard could react, the robber pushed a button on the bomb which set the timer to 0:30 and threw it. Promptly, he was pulled upward by his partners. The copter took off.  
  
The bomb flew in the air in slow motion.  
  
A guard reflexively pulled out a gun.  
  
Another yelled at him to freeze.  
  
He dove forward.  
  
He caught it just before it hit the ground.  
  
Instantly, screams filled up the room as all the customers made a beeline for the door. The guard who had caught the bomb ran to the back as his partners ran out, shouting for everyone to get away from the building.  
  
Somehow, I couldn't move. Numbly, I sat in the corner and watched the guard run to the back with the bomb in his hand. We had less than fifteen seconds left, and there was no way for everyone gathered outside to move away fast enough. I wasn't frightened. I was dazed, and I saw the piece of glass on the slippery floor.  
  
The guard stepped on it. He tripped. A panicked shriek came from someone a few feet from me as the bomb became airborne again. It soared across the room. Every eye in the room was on it. Suddenly everything seemed so unimportant. What I had worried about just a few minutes ago-acting, money, love life, none of that seemed to matter anymore. I just wanted to live. The air had never felt so thick.  
  
Then it changed direction.  
  
The web came through the broken skylight. It snatched the bomb right out of the air and pulled it out the hole in the roof and beyond my sight. Less than a second later it appeared again, flying toward the sky, where it promptly exploded.  
  
Instantly, excitement overcame me as I jumped to my feet and raced outside. There was quite a crowd gathered at the door, among which were at least ten cops and several police cars. However, there was not a single sound in the air. No one was talking. They all stood facing one direction, some shielding their eyes from the eyes, gazing upward to the west.  
  
I followed their line of sight.  
  
To the west of the bank was downtown New York, where the Twin Towers proudly stood against the setting sun. Even on a regular day, they were quite a sight, but on this memorable evening, they were more.  
  
Between the two majestic buildings, the helicopter from just a few moments ago rested quietly, its blades had stopped beating. It was held in place by what looked like a giant web.  
  
A spider web.  
  
A hush murmur drifted through the crowd as the helicopter began to shake, struggling, then fell silent again. A minute later, a small dot of a figure moved itself along the strands of the web toward the copter. It disappeared inside.  
  
I was dimly aware that several police officers went to their cars and drove toward the towers, sirens blaring. The small figure appeared again, this time accompanied by several others. Slowly, three bodies were lowered to the ground, hanging on what looked like thin shiny threads.  
  
Applause erupted.  
  
People near me began to cheer.  
  
He hadn't deserted us.  
  
He was ready, waiting.  
  
Like he always will be.  
  
I listened to the people cheer for him and smiled. On that day, when I swung above the festival in his arms, people had cheered, just like this. At the time, I was too frightened to take notice, but now, I remembered.  
  
He belonged to the city.  
  
He belonged to the people.  
  
He will never belong to me.  
  
But I loved him still. 


	12. Section 12

Section 12  
  
Even after the crowd dispersed, I stood there in the cool evening, looking into the sky. The police had seized the helicopter long ago and placed the criminals under custody. The giant web was torn down in the process and the Twin Towers were left alone again, standing there silhouetted against the sky.  
  
A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I whirled around, expecting more misfortune, but came face to face with Peter Parker.  
  
"Um, hi," he said, and waved awkwardly.  
  
"Pete, hi!" For reasons unknown, I was very glad to see him. I grabbed his arm and pulled him up next to me, pointing to the towers with my other hand. "Did you see what happened up there?"  
  
"Yeah," he said nonchalantly. "I did. Looked like another point for Spider Man."  
  
I nodded, still holding on to his arm. "He's something, isn't he?"  
  
"Sure is. What are you doing out here?"  
  
"Not much. How about you?"  
  
He looked at me. "I was actually hoping to run into you."  
  
"Really? What for?"  
  
He cleared his throat. "To ask you something."  
  
"Yeah?" I tilted my head up at him. "What's that?"  
  
"It's just that... Harry said you haven't given him a reply about Thanksgiving."  
  
"Oh, that."  
  
"Are you coming?"  
  
"I'm not sure." I looked away, knowing he was looking at me but not meeting his eyes. "I mean, I don't know if... I'll be busy."  
  
"I really want you to."  
  
My gaze snapped up. "What?"  
  
"Um, what I mean is..." it was his turn to look away. "It would mean a lot to Harry if you were there... and... it would mean a lot to me, too."  
  
I smiled teasingly. "Really?"  
  
"Well yeah, I mean, it's a holiday and everything right? So, I mean, we should celebrate, and..." I pinched his arm. "Ow! What was that for?"  
  
"You were babbling."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Tell Harry I'll be there."  
  
That made him brighten up. "You will?"  
  
"Sure, why not. It'll be... fun." Even as I said those words, my conscious knew it was at least a half-lie.  
  
"Well that's great!" Peter exclaimed excitedly. "So... I'll see you on Thanksgiving."  
  
"I guess you will."  
  
A few minutes later, as Peter disappeared around the corner of the tattered bank, I made my way toward home, trying to decide what I had just done. I had agreed to be there, on Thanksgiving, in the company of Harry and his father, to be judged by one of the more important men in the city. But after turning Harry down time after time, I said yes to a few simple words from Peter.  
  
So the question was:  
  
Who am I doing this for?  
  
~*~  
  
Black dress.  
  
Just putting it on made me feel like I was heading for a funeral instead of a celebration. I had nothing against black. In fact, standing in front of the mirror, it probably made me look slimmer, but it was the reason...  
  
'I wanted to impress my father and he loves black.'  
  
What kind of man loved black? Not just liked, but loved? Mind you, it in no way made Norman Osborn a bad man, but black? Such a serious color, not to mention depressing, and to be worn on Thanksgiving, the holiday that revolves around pumpkins and a fat bird.  
  
I sighed. "You can to this," I said to the girl in the mirror. "It's just dinner. You can do it."  
  
And maybe, just maybe, turkeys smiled before they're shoved into the oven.  
  
Right now I felt just like the turkey, about to be gutted for dinner.  
  
Mentally, I went over everything I needed. Black dress, check. Good, neutral makeup, check. Neatly brushed and cleaned hair, check. Light perfume, check. Decent shoes, check. All that was missing was a smile.  
  
"Go on, smile," the girl in the mirror seemed to say to me. "Smile, look happy already. It's a celebration. I want to look happy."  
  
But she continued to look plain, scared, and so very, very small.  
  
~*~  
  
My spirits picked up a little when I entered the small apartment Harry shared with Peter. The entire room was filled with the delectable aroma of spices, sugar, jellies, and everything else fattening. Aunt May was standing over the kitchen counter cutting up tomatoes for a salad. She smiled at me as I walked in.  
  
"Oh hello, dear," she said warmly, "glad you can make it. Everyone is running late, it seems."  
  
I felt my heart lift at her voice. Suddenly everything didn't seem so scary. "Nope, I made it," I said cheerfully, tossing my coat onto a chair. "Would you like any help?"  
  
Aunt May dusted off her hands and looked around. "Well, not really, dear, I'm all done," she said. "But I think the casserole in the oven's almost done. Why don't you take that out and let it cool?"  
  
"M.J.!"  
  
I looked up and saw Harry coming down the stairs. Like me, he was all dressed up, jacket and tie and everything. And, just like me, he appeared nervous as a cat on a hot skillet. I flashed him my best smile, hoping he would loosen up. Having one of us nervous was enough. "Hi, Harry!"  
  
He hurried to my side and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."  
  
"Harry has been walking up and down those stairs none stop," Aunt May said loudly. Harry scratched his head in embarrassment. "I kept telling him not to worry, but young people today, they don't listen."  
  
I straightened his tie. "You have nothing to worry about."  
  
"No, YOU have nothing to worry about. Look at you, you're beautiful." Harry took a look at the living room. "Oh man, this place is a mess. I gotta get all that junk out of here."  
  
I chuckled, praying like heck that I didn't look as agitated as he did. The casserole was still in the oven, so I decided to distract myself with that. Aunt May handed me an apron as I bent over to open the oven.  
  
"Put it on, dear," she said, "wouldn't want to dirty up that pretty dress now, would we?"  
  
Struggling to tie the apron strings behind my back, I glanced at Harry again. He was bustling about the living room, trying to find something, anything out of place. Finally, he settled on a pile of newspapers in the corner.  
  
"Gotta get these outta here," I heard him mumble as I brought the casserole out of the oven.  
  
"Hmm, Aunt May, this smells great!" I exclaimed, holding the pan to my nose. "You think anyone would notice if I nip at the corner?"  
  
Harry looked up from the newspapers he was cleaning up. "M.J., will u stop goofing around?"  
  
I laughed. "Harry, relax!"  
  
As if on cue, a rattling sound came from the halls. Harry was so tense he dropped the papers in his hand. "He's here!" Hurried, he shoved all the newspapers into a corner as the doorbell rang.  
  
"Are you ready?" Aunt May asked, putting the last of the food into the oven.  
  
"Yeah." I put the casserole onto the table and took off my apron as Harry uttered that last word. This was it. Suddenly, I felt like every muscle in my body was wound up tight.  
  
Aunt May opened the door.  
  
For the first time ever, I saw Norman Osborn up close. There was no description for how I felt. Something inside me wanted to scream and something else was relieved. I stood next to Harry and was suddenly aware that my hands kept smoothing out every inch of the depressing black dress.  
  
Norman Osborn walked in.  
  
He looked like every man I've ever passed on the street, except with an odd sense of seriousness and power. His features were a lot like Harry, but hardened with time, chiseled by experience. He was wearing a suit, black of course, and holding a red package in his hand. He looked at Aunt May and smiled.  
  
"Hi, I'm sorry I'm late," he said casually, and sounding a little out of breath, as if he'd ran all the way here. "Work was murder." He handed the package to Aunt May. "I picked up a fruitcake."  
  
While Aunt May exchanged a few words with him, I quickly straightened Harry's jacket and my own cloth. He was still tense as ever.  
  
"You look great," Harry whispered to me.  
  
"Thanks," I whispered back. We stood next to each other, posing like a portrait. I guess we were both hoping to create the perfect picture for his father.  
  
Mr. Osborn, relieved of the package, strolled inside. His stride was one of authority. He removed his jacket and glanced at me for the first time. "Who is this lovely young lady?"  
  
Harry cleared his throat. "Um, MJ, I'd like you to meet my father, Norman Osborn." Mr. Osborn approached us and offered his hand. I shook it. He had a strong grip. "Dad, this is Mary Jane Watson."  
  
"Hi," I said. He smiled at me and I smiled back, unsure whether either of us was been sincere.  
  
"Hi," he said, looking at me straight in the face, something that was kind of rare for most people. He the same eyes as Harry. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."  
  
"Happy Thanksgiving, sir." A breath of relief slipped out of me. The hard part seemed to be over.  
  
"Now where is Peter?" Aunt May asked from the kitchen. "He better have remembered that cranberry sauce."  
  
"I think he's still at the store," Harry called to her. He seemed a little more relaxed.  
  
"I thought he'd be back by now..."  
  
While Aunt May and Harry went on, I noticed that Mr. Osborn was staring at me. Not directly, but just a little out of the corner of his eyes. There was a dark glimmer in his eyes that made me uneasy. It was like he was cutting me apart with an invisible knife and examining every nook and cranny of my mind.  
  
Something above us thumped. Harry looked up, so did Aunt May. But I didn't. I was afraid, actually afraid, to look away.  
  
"Oh... that's weird," Harry mumbled. "I didn't know he was here."  
  
"Peter?" Aunt May called up the stairs. "Peter, is that you?"  
  
Harry took a few steps up. "Pete?"  
  
My eyes flicked upward for a second, then back again. A small sneer appeared on the corner of Mr. Osborn's lips as he gave me another reading glance. I swallowed hard and tried not to meet his gaze. It was hard.  
  
"Let's go up and check," Harry said, heading up the stairs, followed by Aunt May. I took the opportunity to break away and went up along with them.  
  
As we approached Peter's room, Mr. Osborn slipped past us and entered first. I was relieved to have him further away from me. Aunt May peered into the room and studied it.  
  
"There's nobody here," she said. I didn't stay around to look. As she and Mr. Osborn chatted on, I slipped away downstairs into the living room and stood there for a few seconds, and rubbed my arms with my hands. There were goose bumps all over them, even though it wasn't at all chilly.  
  
Harry came down the stairs a moment later. He took one look at me and seemed to understand. He came to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "I think he likes you."  
  
"No, he doesn't."  
  
"Of course he does. He just doesn't show it."  
  
I didn't want to look in his eyes, because I was certain I would see a lie. "Really?"  
  
"Believe me. Look, he's just not the... demonstrative type, okay?" He pecked my cheek lightly. "Don't worry."  
  
"Guess he's not back after all," a voice said from above. We glanced up at the same time and saw Mr. Osborn coming down the stairs.  
  
"Well, we'll just have to have a seat and wait for him now, don't we?" Aunt May said, following close behind.  
  
"Of course." Mr. Osborn held out his arm in a gentlemanly gesture before Aunt May. "After you, madam."  
  
As we each found a place to sit in the living room, I was aware the Mr. Osborn was still studying me. I tried my best to pretend not to notice, but the truth was I was also studying him. He was perfect, too perfect. His every move was with grace and reason, not a hair out of place, as if he premeditated everything he was going to before arriving. Every time he spoke, every word was used perfectly and his voice was always steady and smooth. He was too polite, too suave, and too much of a gentleman for this chaotic city. I prayed, prayed to god that I was just been paranoid.  
  
"So, tell me about yourself, Mary Jane," Mr. Osborn said, setting himself into a sofa, after making sure that Aunt May and myself were comfortable, of course. "Are you attending college?"  
  
I swallowed. "Not full time at the moment, sir," I replied, hoping my words didn't sound forced. "I'm taking classes part time and looking for a job in my spare time."  
  
"Oh? What line of work are you looking for?"  
  
"At the moment I'm looking into acting."  
  
He raised an eyebrow and I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Harry cleared his throat softly. "Yes. I'm hoping to make it into Broadway someday."  
  
"Broadway." Mr. Osborn nodded with a mild smile. "That's some big dream."  
  
"M.J. is a great actress, dad," Harry cut in. I was glad he did because I was at a lack for words.  
  
"Really? Are you acting now?"  
  
"I, uh..." I stammered. "I had an audition just a while ago. But... they said I didn't fit their part."  
  
"Lovely young lady like you?" Mr. Osborn leaned on the armrest of his chair. He was sitting one leg rested on the other and hands clasped together loosely, a posture that was both casual and just stiff enough not to wrinkle his suit. For some reason that pose kept replaying in my mind.  
  
He kept looking at me, never wavering his line of sight. It felt uncomfortable, and very, very odd.  
  
A little like deja vu.  
  
The rattle of the doorknob startled me. Everyone looked up, including Mr. Osborn, much to my relief, as Peter walked in.  
  
"Hey everyone," he said with a grin, and waved a metal can in his hand. "Sorry I'm late. it's a jungle out there. I had to beat an old lady with a stick to get these cranberries."  
  
Aunt May greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and took the can from him. "Thank you." She turned to the rest of us. "Now then, everybody sit down and we can say grace."  
  
Most of the food had already been put onto the table. Harry took my arm and led me to the chairs on one side. Peter sat across from us. Aunt May placed the turkey in the center as Mr. Osborn sat down at the end of the table. I glanced up at Peter. He looked at me briefly and it may have been my imagination but he looked... sad.  
  
"We're doing great," Harry whispered to me.  
  
"You sure?" I whispered back. "I still don't think he likes me."  
  
"Of course he does."  
  
Aunt May was standing on the corner of the table, between Mr. Osborn and me. I sat up straight and tried to look as proper and lady-like as possible when she said, "Norman, would you do the honors?"  
  
I looked over their way and for a second thought I spotted an annoyed look on Mr. Osborn's face, but then his expressions turned pleasant and he picked up the carving knives. Aunt May smiled and walked around the table to her seat.  
  
I thought Mr. Osborn would start carving the turkey right away, then at least he'll be occupied with something besides picking at me with his eyes. But he didn't. Instead, he held the two knives in his hands and scraped their blades together. The sound was unnerving, like the grinding of a predator's teeth. I had seen people do something like this before, but not the way he was going about it. He seemed to be enjoying seeing the knives brush against each other, metal clashing against metal.  
  
"Why Peter!" Aunt May suddenly exclaimed. The scraping stopped as Aunt May grabbed on of Peter's wrists. "You're bleeding!"  
  
He was indeed, and quite a bit, too. There was a dark crimson line of the sleeve of his shirt, indicating that enough blood had seeped through to stain the thick cloth.  
  
"Yeah," he said nonchalantly, "I stepped off a curb and got clipped by one of those bike messengers."  
  
Dimly, I wondered when was the last time I saw a bike messenger in this part of town.  
  
"Oh," Aunt May frowned. "Let me see..." Carefully, she opened Peter's cuff, revealing a long cut that was still red and swollen. "Oh my goodness! That looks awful! I'll get the first aid kit," she said, heading for the kitchen. "This is the boys' first Thanksgiving. We've got to do things right."  
  
Mr. Osborn still had the carving knives in his hand but he was no longer paying attention to them, and he wasn't looking at me anymore either. I wasn't certain if anyone else noticed, but the room was suddenly filled with tension. I watched as he pointed at the cut on Peter's arm with one of the knives. "How did you say you got that?" he asked. His voice carried an oddly deep tone.  
  
"Bike messenger," Peter replied. "Knocked me down."  
  
Harry said something to me but I didn't hear. The way Peter said those words caught my attention. I had never heard him speak like that. He said them the way a kidnapper asked for ransom: no room for discussion.  
  
There was silence for a few seconds.  
  
Suddenly, the carving knives clanked to the table as Mr. Osborn stood up hastily. "Excuse me," he said, "I've got to be going."  
  
Harry looked at his father, startled. "What? Why?"  
  
Mr. Osborn was already putting on his jacket. "Something has come to my attention," he answered vaguely and headed for the door.  
  
"Are you all right?" Harry called, getting out of his chair.  
  
"I'm fine," he answered at the door, "I'm just fine." I looked at Peter, who looked back at me. Maybe it was just my imagination, but he didn't look as surprised as I felt. Mr. Osborn stopped at the door, facing Aunt May, who was still holding the first aid kit. "Thank you, Mrs. Parker, everyone. Enjoy the fruitcake."  
  
Before anyone could say anything, he was already out the door. Harry leaped up and went after him.  
  
"Dad, what are you doing?" I heard him ask in the hall just outside the door. For a while no sound came. I felt dump, sitting there staring at my hands with Peter across from me. Several seconds passed and just when I was about to go check on Harry, Mr. Osborn's voice appeared again.  
  
"Look at her," he said. "You think a woman like that's sniffing around 'cause she likes your personality?"  
  
A pause. "What are you saying?"  
  
"Your mother was beautiful, too. They're all beautiful, until they're snarling after your trust fund like a pack of ravening wolves."  
  
I listened for Harry and heard nothing. Peter gave me a sympathetic look. I appreciated it, but I didn't need it. I didn't want him to pity me.  
  
"You word to the not so wise about your little girlfriend," Mr. Osborn continued, "Do what you need to with her then broom her fast." The rattling of metal indicated that he had entered the elevator.  
  
My heart sank. At that moment my heart truly sank. I knew that I wasn't perfect. I knew I'll never be a high class lady, but I had always thought that I never did anything to make people look down on me. But now, what had I done to make Mr. Osborn think something like that about me? He was wrong. He had to be.  
  
Then why didn't Harry say anything?  
  
For a moment I thought he had left with his father, but Harry walked in the door a minute later, looking rather down. He glanced toward the table and didn't speak. Suddenly I was angry.  
  
"Thanks for sticking up for me, Harry," I said, and pushed myself away from the table.  
  
"You heard?"  
  
You heard?  
  
It was his tone that mad me feel worse. He said it so casually, the way a common person would say 'hello'. I grabbed my coat and faced him.  
  
"Everyone heard that creep," I said, not meaning for it to sound so hostile, but it did.  
  
Harry's expression hardened. For a moment he looked just like his father. "That CREEP is my father," he said sternly. "All right? If I'm lucky I'll become half what he is." I pushed past him to the door. "So just keep your mouth shut about stuff you don't understand!" he shouted after me. At that split second I felt like I didn't know him at all.  
  
"Harry Osborn!" Aunt May exclaimed.  
  
I turned back one last time before leaving what was supposed to be a happy holiday celebration. "I'm sorry, Aunt May," I said softly and walked out before she could answer.  
  
The truth was, I didn't expect her to answer. I was looking at Peter. 


	13. Section 13

Section 13  
  
I didn't take the bus that day.  
  
Instead, I walked the four miles home. Several times, I passed bus stops, but I didn't want anyone to see me like this, head hung, tears threatening to stream down my face. Part of me wondered why I was so upset, but a little voice in the depth of my mind whispered that I knew perfectly well.  
  
I kept thinking, I was upset because I knew that some of this was my fault. What did I expect, getting involved with a rich boy in the first place? I would never cross into Harry's world, so why did I want to try in the first place? Mr. Osborn was a creep, but do I just think that because he's right to a certain degree? How was he supposed to react, coming to Thanksgiving dinner and finding his son, the son he must have held so much hope for, with his arms around a gutter girl?  
  
And a failing actress at that.  
  
As hard as it was to admit, some little part of me wanted badly to impress Mr. Osborn, to seem like a lady in his social class, to seem like a great match for Harry.  
  
And for what? I'd long lost sight of how exactly I felt for Harry.  
  
Guilt. It was guilt all over again. Just thinking about it made me nauseous. Suddenly, Flash popped back into my mind. How long did I force myself to stick with him just because I felt guilty? And now Harry. How much do I really care for him, and how much of it was because I felt bad about all the fancy little trinkets he kept buying me?  
  
I didn't know.  
  
Nor did I want to know.  
  
If I did stay with him just because of the gifts, then that would make Mr. Osborn right. I had made myself a gold digger.  
  
When did the world become so complicated? When had love become so grim? Maybe those were too big of questions to ask, maybe I was over thinking it. Maybe it's all very, very simple. Maybe I shouldn't live at all.  
  
~*~  
  
The house was empty, just like I expected it to be. I locked the front door behind me and flung my things onto the floor carelessly. Everything seemed hazy and distant at that moment. All the shades were closed except for one standing slightly ajar in the kitchen. As I went to pull it down, something caught my attention.  
  
The medicine cabinet.  
  
It was right there, above the stove, next to the window, inches from me. Minutes passed as I just stood there, staring at it.  
  
The phone rang.  
  
"Hi, it's M.J.," my own voice sounded far away, "leave a message at the beep."  
  
"M.J.?" Harry's voice came from the answering machine. "M.J., are you there? M.J., can you pick up?"  
  
I could have, but I didn't. Slowly, I watched my hands as if I had no control over them as they reached up and opened the medicine cabinet. They fumbled around for a while, shaking and knocking bottles over, until they found a plastic jar filled with small white pills. They were my mother's sleeping pills.  
  
The phone rang again.  
  
"Hi, it's M.J., leave a message at the beep."  
  
"M.J., are you there? I'm so sorry about today. Please pick up, M.J."  
  
He didn't need to be sorry, because he was right. I shouldn't temper with things I didn't understand, and right now, I didn't understand life.  
  
Or the instruction on the jar.  
  
The house seemed to be shaking as I clamped one hand over the jar lid and pulled. It was stuck. I grabbed it with my fingers and jerked. The jar burst open, sending pills all over the room. With a frustrated cry, I threw the jar onto the floor and slumped onto the floor. I hated myself at that moment, so weak and vulnerable to the world.  
  
I sat there on the cold floor in silence for a long time with my knees drawn up to my chin, not thinking, just feeling the room darken as the sun went down. The phone kept ringing and ringing, but I just couldn't bring myself to care.  
  
"M.J.? It's Harry again. Will you call me back? Please?"  
  
"Where are you, M.J.? Aren't you home yet? Will you call when you get back?"  
  
"M.J., call me, please? I'm sorry."  
  
...  
  
Perhaps it was midnight. Perhaps it was morning. When I finally stood up carefully, supporting myself on the counter, and suddenly felt very lonely. Here I was, in my moment of despair, and I was alone. There was not a single person I thought to call, or to go to, for advice or comfort. For the first time ever, I felt like I was truly alone in the world.  
  
All the little white pills were still scattered about the kitchen floor where I left them. I began to gather them, one at a time, and place them in a line along the sink, then stood over them, simply pondering.  
  
From across the sink and yard, I could see Peter's old house. Aunt May was alone there now and I wondered how she was doing and what she would think of me standing here, been so physically and emotionally fragile. She would disapprove of such weakness. Heck, I disapproved it myself.  
  
All the lights were out in her house. Perhaps she had gone to sleep already. I wanted to sleep, too. I was tired, but a little nap just won't do if I have to wake up to this lonely world again.  
  
Methodically, I put the first pill in my mouth.  
  
~*~  
  
I thought my head would hurt as the medication start to kick in, or I would feel sick, but none of that happened. Around dawn, I felt the first sign of sleep, so I laid down on the sofa and simply waited for death to happen.  
  
As I dozed in and out, memories flooded my mind. The first thing I remembered was the Thanksgiving dinner, but that quickly vanished as other things took over. I remembered Spider Man. His embrace, his kiss, swinging through the city in his arms. No matter how exhausted I was, thinking of him still made my heart pound with excitement. But no matter. I doubted he even remembered me. He's saved my life twice, but this time it's out of his hands.  
  
Then there was Peter.  
  
He was always there for everyone. Me, Aunt May, Harry... He seemed to do everything at once and not get worn out by it. I remembered the way he got up and kept going that day on the bus to the field trip. I admired him. I still do.  
  
Field trip...  
  
For the last few seconds of consciousness, I thought about spiders. The missing spider from the glass case. I wondered if they ever found it. I remembered Peter asking to take my picture with the spiders. The museum...  
  
...  
  
"Hey," a timid voice said. I twisted my head around and saw Peter standing behind me. He had touched me lightly on the shoulder was immediately drawing his hand back as if afraid he'd done something he shouldn't. "Um, can I take your picture?" he asked in the came careful tone. "I need one with a student in it."  
  
I smiled. Same old Peter, always school business. He's had that camera since, well, I don't know when. It was getting hard to picture him without it, almost as hard as trying to see him without his thick glasses. "Sure," I said, trying to be cheery, hoping it will relax him. "Where do you want me? Here?" I stepped next to the counter on which the super spiders' container was placed.  
  
"Yeah, that's fine." He stepped back and raised his camera.  
  
A giggle escaped me when I saw the ginger, awkward way he was handling it, as if extremely nervous. "Don't make me look ugly," I said laughing.  
  
Peter shrugged with a dazed look on his face. "That's impossible," he said.  
  
And so I posed for him, feeling a little unreal as he clicked off two pictures. Something about the way we were going about this simple task made me feel... beyond myself. I began to act and feel a little silly when he took a few more.  
  
"Perfect," he mumbled as the shutter clicked again.  
  
"M.J.! Let's go!" that was Sarah's voice. I quickly left the counter and went after her. The group was pretty far along the way.  
  
"Wait," Peter said. Had he said it a little louder I might have, but at that moment I wasn't even sure that was what he said. "Thanks," he called.  
  
I caught up with Sarah and was about to tell Peter he was welcome, but when I turned to look at him, he was kneeling on the floor, studying something intently.  
  
He was holding one hand...  
  
Something was glistening just above his head.  
  
A web...  
  
...  
  
Darkness took over.  
  
~*~  
  
The ringing of the telephone felt like a dream. I wondered for a moment if I was already dead and hearing bells. But as I forced open my heavy eyelids, I realized that the phone had been ringing for quite some time.  
  
"Hi, it's M.J., leave a message after the beep."  
  
"M.J.? It's Peter. Are you there?"  
  
Peter.  
  
As I stumbled out of the couch, something hard struck my calf hard enough to send stars to my eyes. I yelped, got up again and reached the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"M.J.! Are you all right?" he sounded both excited and relieved.  
  
"I know." A yawn escaped me. "I heard."  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked, suddenly suspicious, "you sound weird."  
  
"I'm a little tired." I fought to stay conscious. It was a difficult battle.  
  
"M.J... Aunt May's in the hospital."  
  
"What?" I blurted out.  
  
"She was attacked last night."  
  
"Attacked?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm not sure how. Someone broke in and attacked her."  
  
Suddenly I felt more alert. "Is she all right?"  
  
"She's in shock but she'll be fine. Can you... can you drop by today?"  
  
I paused. "Drop by?"  
  
"Any time," he said softly. "I just... I need to see a friendly face."  
  
My eyelids were getting heavier but suddenly I knew what I had to do. "I'll be there in a while, Peter," I said, "but I have to go now. Bye."  
  
"Bye, M..."  
  
I hung up. I didn't want to but I had to. The world was spinning. Mustering every ounce of strength I had, I got on my feet, but fell again. Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself to the bathroom on my hands and knees, trying not to pass out, because if I did, I would never wake up again.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I draped myself over the toilet and stuck two fingers down my throat.  
  
~*~  
  
After I got rid of the pills, it took a while to convince myself of how close I came to dying. My mind simple wouldn't accept the fact.  
  
I turned on the shower and made the water as hot as possible, then simply stripped and stood under it, letting the heat burn my skin to an angry red. It felt good. As I cleaned myself amidst the steam and water, I realized that I didn't remember much about last night. Everything seemed like a dream. Part of it probably was dream. I had hallucinated before passing out.  
  
Something in the back of my mind clamored that part of it wasn't hallucination, but if there were any reality to it, I couldn't remember, so I decided to simply forget about it.  
  
I put on a fresh shirt and pants and checked myself out in the mirror. The girl looking back at me seemed so happy and carefree, perhaps even sort of pretty. I wondered if there was a way to trade lives with her.  
  
Before going out, I grabbed what little cash I had in my room and prepared to stop at the flower shop. Flowers cheered people up, and I wanted to get some for Aunt May.  
  
And maybe for Peter, too, for saving my life.  
  
~*~  
  
The nurse on duty at the front desk reminded me of Joanna.  
  
She didn't look up from her magazine when I stood in front of her, flowers in hand. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm here to see May Parker."  
  
"Visitation hours don't start 'till ten."  
  
I glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall behind her. "It's 10:30."  
  
She still didn't look up. "Room 204."  
  
"Thanks." For very little.  
  
The halls of the hospital were depressing. The gray color of the halls matched the gray expression on people's faces. Even the flowers in my hand seemed to droop in such a place. I shuddered to think that if I had kept the pills down just a few hours ago, I would have ended up here eventually.  
  
Peter appeared when I knocked on the door of Room 204. One look at him made me glad I came. His face was pale and tired, but he still smiled at me as I walked in, as if trying to be brave no matter what. I smiled back at him. His strength reminded me of that day on the bus. He was a survivor, the kind that kept going regardless of the obstacles of life.  
  
Aunt May was lying peacefully in the hospital bed. She seemed so weak and fragile with needles and tubes connected to her thin body. It felt odd seeing her like this because just last night I was thinking of her as a symbol of strength.  
  
"Will she be okay?" I asked Peter softly, closing the door behind me.  
  
He nodded. "She's gonna be fine. She's been sleeping all day." He paused. "Thanks for coming."  
  
I touched Aunt May's hand gently. Her skin felt soft and comforting even when she's in such a state. "Of course." I gazed at her face into her face. It was marked with experience and wisdom. She had been through a lot, and this probably wasn't the worst.  
  
"How are you?" Peter asked. I faced him and gave him a pleasant look that I hoped was reassuring. "You okay about the other night?"  
  
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." I looked at Aunt May again. "I just feel bad about leaving Aunt May."  
  
"Have you talked to Harry?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "He called me. I haven't called him back." Absently, I took the flowers out of their wrapping and went to place them on a table next to the window, but stopped as another thought hit me. "The fact is," I said hesitantly. "I think I'm in love with somebody else." The flowers flopped onto the table as I turned to face Peter. He had a surprised look on his face.  
  
"You are?"  
  
Immediately I regretted bringing up something like this. "At least I think I am." I sighed. "It's not the right time to talk about it."  
  
"No, no," Peter hurried to my side. "Go on. Would I know his name? This guy?"  
  
I felt the heat rush to my face. "You'll think I'm a stupid little girl with a crush," I said with an embarrassed smile.  
  
"Trust me."  
  
Those words awakened something in me. It was not the first time I heard them from him, and every time he told me to trust him, I did. Every time he said them, I couldn't resist the urge to tell him everything.  
  
I took a deep breath. "It's funny," I said, one word at a time, feeling a bit unreal. "He's saved my life twice and I've never even seen his face."  
  
Why?  
  
Why did I tell him this?  
  
The truth was, I had never said those words out loud, or even admitted it to myself before. I had never realized how strongly I felt about him. Love didn't feel real until I stood in the hospital room that day, pouring my heart out to Peter Parker.  
  
A grin appeared on Peter's face. "Oh... him."  
  
"You're laughing at me!" I exclaimed, well aware that I was laughing myself.  
  
"No, no, I understand," he said quickly, sitting down in an armchair against the wall. Perhaps it was too ridiculous an idea to take standing up. I sat down across from him. "He IS extremely cool."  
  
Five words suddenly flashed across my mind.  
  
Some people don't think so.  
  
"But do you think it's true?" I asked Peter. "All those terrible things they say about him?"  
  
To my relief, he shook his head. "No, no, not Spider Man. Not a chance in the world. I know him a little bit." I raised an eyebrow. "I'm sort of his unofficial photographer."  
  
"Has he mentioned me?" The words were out before I could think. I felt silly just thinking of such a question. Why would he care about one girl he saved when he probably rescued hundreds each day?  
  
"Yeah." Peter replied casually.  
  
My heart skipped a beat. "What'd he say?"  
  
"Uh, I said," Peter stammered. I couldn't tell if he was making it up or just trying to remember the truth. It didn't matter. "He, he asked me what I thought about you."  
  
"And what did you say?" A little voice in my head told me to stop, just stop, but I couldn't.  
  
"I said, um, Spider Man..." I was watching him closely, probably too close, but he didn't seem to mind. "I said, um, the great thing about MJ is when you look in her eyes. And she's looking back in yours." Suddenly the room felt very quiet, as if the world had died out and left the two of us. I gazed into his eyes and once again discovered how blue they were. "Everything feels...not quite normal, because you feel stronger, weaker at the same time." I wanted to look away, but couldn't. "You feel excited. And at the same time, terrified."  
  
Soft.  
  
The world felt soft.  
  
"The truth is you don't know what you feel." It felt like he wasn't talking to Spider Man. He was talking to me for the first time ever. Perhaps I was imagining it, or maybe it was real. "Except what kind of man you wanna be."  
  
He had blue eyes.  
  
"It's as if you've reached the unreachable," he told me, "and you aren't ready for it."  
  
I laughed quietly. It felt good to do so. "You said that?"  
  
"Oh..." he looked away, as if snapping out of the trance we were both in. "Something like that."  
  
I reached for his hand.  
  
Several moments passed when we just sat there, our fingers entwined. We were no longer looking at each other. Instead, we just found a spot in space and fixated on it.  
  
This was my moment.  
  
This was my perfect moment with him.  
  
And I kept thinking, that this was what the gods meant to happen.  
  
My perfect moment.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: ok, the subject of suicide might be a little touchy for some. So if anyone is offended by this, I'm sorry. I just figured that with everything going on in her life, it's about time M.J. stopped smiling all perfect and cute and show a little human emotion. Oh, and I plan to finish this story by the beginning of next month, either that or gonna hafta put it off once college starts. So expect the next chapters either real fast or real slow. Ciao! 


	14. Section 14

Section 14  
  
The click of the door disrupted my trance. A single footstep entered the room.  
  
Peter's head snapped up as I felt his hand jerk away from mine. His eyes cast a tense look toward the door. I followed his gaze and saw Harry standing there, holding more flowers. None of us moved as the clock on the wall ticked quietly.  
  
Peter cleared his throat. "Hi," he breathed.  
  
Harry didn't reply as he kept his gaze on me. I looked down, pretending lamely not to notice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him open his mouth, then close it again. A few more moments passed before, decisively, he walked to Aunt May's bed, laid the flowers next to her, and walked out the door without a word.  
  
Peter and I looked at each other. Whatever was there just a minute ago had dissipated into the air.  
  
"I'm sorry," Peter said quietly, "I just made it worse, didn..."  
  
I stopped him. "It's not your fault."  
  
"But you and Harry..."  
  
"There's no 'me and Harry' anymore," I said, "at least not for a while."  
  
"Oh." There was an odd spark in his voice. "But don't you want to get back together?"  
  
"Maybe he does. But I'm not sure what I want anymore." I sighed and looked out the window. The bright sky made everything out there seem so simple, much simpler that what was in here.  
  
"Life's so complex, isn't it?" Peter said as if he had read my mind.  
  
I stood up. "Yes, it is, Tiger," I said, heading for the door. "I'll see you later."  
  
He followed me to the hall. "Won't you stay a little longer?"  
  
"I shouldn't." I need time to think things out, I almost said. "Bye, Pete."  
  
"See you, M.J."  
  
Nobody knew that I stood in the hall for at least fifteen minutes after he closed the door behind me. Nobody knew that I had a smile on my face even though I was been torn apart in a million different directions inside. And nobody knew that I was wondering, dreaming, about how it would feel to throw my arms around him and just stay there.  
  
Forever and ever.  
  
~*~  
  
The slight chill in the air felt good as I exited the hospital. The same air felt cold and rancid just a few hours ago, but somehow, everything had changed. Perhaps it was just me, or perhaps the world really does become reborn the same way a person does.  
  
The same way I did.  
  
I skipped down the front steps and stopped before I reached the bottom. A figure was leaning against the wall of the hospital, head down, hands in his pockets. The wind was tossing his hair over his eyes but he didn't both to brush them away. He had one foot up against the brick surface, and had the look of a wonderer lost.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
He looked up at me and smiled wanly. "Hi, M.J."  
  
I didn't move to approach him. "What are you still doing here?"  
  
"Couldn't think of anywhere else to go." He gestured at the wall. "Care to join me?"  
  
And so I did. For several minutes we simply stood there, leaning against the wall, watching the clouds and cars and people go by. Neither of us said anything, maybe because there was no need to state the obvious.  
  
"It's over, isn't it?" Harry said at last. He didn't sound sad, or angry, or even the least bit upset, just a little disappointed.  
  
"I'm really sorry."  
  
"That's all right." The even tone in his voice sent guilt to the deepest pit in my heart. "We had fun, didn't we?"  
  
I nodded. "We sure did."  
  
He looked at me. "Do you like Peter?"  
  
I wanted to look away, but felt that he deserved a better response. "I don't know," I said earnestly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm very confused, Harry. I really didn't want to drag you along on a hopeless relationship."  
  
"That's okay," he said. "I had more fun with you than any other girl. That was fine for me. But I guess it just didn't work out no matter how I hoped it would."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You don't need to be."  
  
"I'll give you your things back tomorrow."  
  
"Keep them. What would I do with them?" he said with a chuckle. "Besides, it's not like you can afford to buy them yourself."  
  
That was meant to lighten the mood, and it worked a little. I smiled slightly as he looked up at the blue sky.  
  
"Nice day isn't it?" He asked me dreamily.  
  
I looked up, too. "Yeah, it is."  
  
"You better get home."  
  
"I guess so. Good bye, Harry."  
  
"Bye, M.J." Those simply little words carried much more weight than they should, and I knew at that moment that I would always carry that weight with me.  
  
On the other side of the street, I stopped and looked back. He was still there, just standing and looking at the sky. Somewhere behind me, someone was playing a violin on the street, a sad melody that seemed to fit into the mood perfectly. I didn't need to go home, and he knew that, but what I knew was that he didn't want me to seem his tears.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," I whispered into the weepy New York wind.  
  
~*~  
  
The first thing I did when I arrived at home was to open the windows in the living room. The whole house felt stuffy and old, and even though the air didn't help much, it made me feel a little refreshed.  
  
After examining the contents of the kitchen cupboard, I found a pack of crackers and a can of soup. Not your idea of a gourmet or even nutritious meal, but it had to do in a cinch. I turned on the stove and began to open the can.  
  
When the soup was heated, I scooped it into a bowl and carried it to the living room. But after setting them down on the table, I discovered that I didn't want it at all. I stirred the mushy substance with a spoon, first in one direction, then in another. Finally, I entertained myself by seeing how much crackers I could smash up and mix into it without it going dry.  
  
Something caught my attention at cracker number fourteen. The sun was glistening off a shiny spot on the floor. I pushed the soup bowl aside and stood up for a closer look.  
  
It was the watch Harry gave me the day after the World Unity Festival. It was lying on the floor among the common household debris, like a duchess in a trailer park. Sometime last night, in my fit of misery and confusion, I had taken it off and not remembered.  
  
I knelt on the floor and picked it up. Running my finger down its smooth surface, I found a small crack on the face. Perhaps I didn't take it off, maybe I dropped it.  
  
Or threw it.  
  
It didn't matter now. There were a lot of gifts from Harry hidden in my room, away from the view of my mother and George. Suddenly, I wanted all of them as far away from me as possible. They reminded me of too much.  
  
I spent the rest of the afternoon putting everything that had anything to do with Harry into a shoe box I found from under my bed, including a picture he had given me when we first started dating, and some we had taken together.  
  
There was one from a little coffee spot on Main Street. That was the one I liked most, because it was our first date, before all the expensive gifts, difficult talks, and complex feelings. It was just me and him drinking cappuccino and watching people walk by, much like we did today at the hospital. He had Peter's camera with him for a reason that I forgot, and asked the man at the next table to take a picture. We were both smiling in the picture, and we were both sincere.  
  
I took great care to make sure everything was neat, clean, and dry before putting the lid on the box.  
  
Originally, I had thought that doing this would make me upset, but it was far from that. Putting all these mementoes away made my mind oddly clear and even a little more confident, like I knew what I would do from that point on and not turn back. I tucked the box under my bed again, stood up, and stretched.  
  
The sun was starting to set, and the soft light pouring into my window was sadly romantic, with a shade of orange that somehow reminded me of cinnamon. Standing in the mild evening, I was suddenly aware that my body was exhausted.  
  
Yawning, I peeled off my shirt and pants and changed into a red tank top and pajama bottoms. I laid down on the bed, closed my eyes, and listened to the sounds of the streets.  
  
After who knows how long, I opened my eyes again. I couldn't sleep. Everything in my mind was in a jumble, and kept swimming back no matter how hard I tried to push them out. Frustrated, I got up and looked around.  
  
There wasn't much in my room save for the bed, my desk, a bookcase, and, of course, the box under the bed.  
  
An idea suddenly came to me. I knelt down and looked under the bed. There wasn't much room underneath with the box, barely enough to fit a person. When I was little, I used to crawl under the bed whenever mom and George started yelling, and pretend I couldn't hear at all. After a while, I really couldn't hear.  
  
I sprawled down on my stomach and inched myself under the bed. It was a tight squeeze, but I could lay on my side with my back against the wall. The floor was cold and hard even with the thin carpet beneath me, but for the first time in a long, long while, I felt comfortable.  
  
I rolled myself into a fetal position and slept.  
  
~*~  
  
When the noise woke me up I was so startled that I almost sat up. If my shoulder hadn't been wedge tightly against the bottom of the bed I would have bumped my head loudly against the wood, which was very lucky had I known what was happening.  
  
At first I thought I was dreaming, because even though my eyes were open, I couldn't seen a thing. It took me a few second to remember where I was, and to realize that it was dark in the house. It was night.  
  
And I wasn't alone.  
  
Suddenly I was wide-awake. The noise that had woke me up came again. It was a dull "thud". In the darkness I could make out a shape just inches from me. It was a foot. Before my horrified eyes, it moved to another corner of the room, then another, accompanied by loud crashes and slams of my closet door. Someone, obviously unaware of my presence, was searching my room.  
  
The air was so thick that I held my breath. My heart was pounding so loud that I was afraid whoever, or whatever, it was would hear. The feet moved around the room, tearing it apart, looking for something. Or someone.  
  
They stopped in front of the bed again and began to pace slowly. I followed them with my gaze, tensing each time they passed me. Finally, they moved away, heading for the door. I let out a soft breath of relief as I heard them subside.  
  
Abruptly, the footsteps stopped. I nearly screamed. There was no was whoever it was had heard me, and yet, they froze in place. I could almost see sharp, devious ears probing the room for every little sound.  
  
At that moment, there was no fear greater than waiting.  
  
I expected with each passing second that a monstrous face would appear before me, with eyes fiery red and teeth gnashing, but oddly, it didn't happen. After a few terrible moments, the footsteps resumed again, and vanished down the stairs, into the distance.  
  
For what seemed like a very long time I just laid there, curled up and breathing sharply. I wanted to stay there until morning, when the sun was up and everything was bright and those horrible feet turn out to be just a dream, but then something crashed. It came from downstairs. The intruder was looking for me and could come back anytime. I knew I couldn't hold out that long.  
  
The receiver of the cordless phone was in the drawer of my desk. I had brought it up so I could answer calls while I studied in my room. All I had to do was get out quietly, get the phone, call the police, and get back under the bed until they showed up. Simple enough, right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
As I eased myself from underneath the bed every nerve in my body tingled uncomfortably. I was hot and I had to go to the bathroom. The darkness felt like it was suffocating me. I looked around, saw no one, and felt my way toward the desk an inch at a time, arms extended forward.  
  
The sound of my own hands on the desk's surface made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My head whirled around, searching for any sign of the intruder. Again, nothing. Shaking, I moved my hand down the cold side of the drawers, and found the first handle. I pulled it open as quietly as possible and fumbled around inside it.  
  
Empty.  
  
I didn't bother to close it, just pushed in a little opened the next one. There were a few pieces of paper inside and some pens, but still no phone. Despite the cold, I felt sweat bead on my forehead. Forcing myself to control my breathing, I slowly lowered myself to the floor on my knees and reached for the last drawer.  
  
Something crunched beneath my leg. I nearly screamed out in terror. It was hard, and in several pieces. Heart pounding, I reached for it. It was a small pile of what felt like plastic, and metal, and wires...  
  
The phone had been smashed.  
  
Whoever was in the house wasn't fooling around.  
  
A rustling came from behind me. I didn't turn around because I already knew who it was. My hand was wrapped around the broken phone so hard that the plastic shards dug into my skin, but I didn't let go. If I did, I feared I would go mad.  
  
Air went into my mouth and nose, then out, then in, then out again. Something in the back of my throat tasted bitter. It was terror.  
  
More rustles, then silence. Then, with no warning at all, laughter burst into the room, echoing off the walls and windows, so loud that it threatened to shatter my eardrums. It was the same cruel laughter I heard that day high on the balcony, that day when the city burst into flames. It had found me after all this time, and grew louder and louder.  
  
I pressed my hands against my ears and screamed.  
  
I didn't know how long I knelt there, screaming in fear of an invisible nightmare. Eventually, a third hand pressed over my face and the laughter was replaced by the hissing of gas.  
  
~*~  
  
I was asleep.  
  
Or perhaps I was awake. But it made no difference. My whole body was weak and leathery. I was lying somewhere soft, perhaps on the couch in downstairs. Everything around me was fuzzy. I drifted in and out, vaguely aware of my surroundings.  
  
My attacker, who at this point I was quite certain of his identity, had carried me downstairs and laid me down. At first I was afraid he would do something to me, since I was in no condition to resist, but oddly, he dressed me. He put a thin bathrobe and slippers on me, for reasons beyond my comprehension, but I wasn't in the right mind to comprehend anything anyway.  
  
With every ounce of strength and will, I turned my head to the room and could see a figure moving about through my sleepy eyes. I yawned and fought the slumber that threatened to take over. I wasn't aware of anything anymore.  
  
Then the phone rang.  
  
I wasn't certain if it was a dream or not. The answering machine picked up before I figured out the answer.  
  
"Hi it's me..."  
  
"Hi M.J. it's..." a panicked voice said before the machine even finished.  
  
"...leave a message at the beep."  
  
"M.J., it's peter you there?" the undeniable voice of Peter Parker said in a hurry. "Hello? You there?" I heard a sigh on the other end. "Well I, I'm just calling to check in on you will you call me when you get in? OK? Well, don't," he paused, "don't go up any dark allies."  
  
Dark allies...  
  
I was so dazed that I had to think about what those words meant. I saw the figure move to the phone and push a button, the speaker perhaps.  
  
Peter's voice went up. "Hello?"  
  
The laughter came again. I had no will to block out my ears this time. The best I could do was grimace when the rancid voice spoke.  
  
"Can Spider Man come out to play?"  
  
I heard this.  
  
And I heard Peter.  
  
Something clicked in my mind before I passed out. 


	15. Section 15

HEY HEY! Guess who's an official college girl! That's right, me!! I am in my dorm, finishing up the last bit of this story and hopefully have it all posted before class starts next week. The school passed out a campus theater schedule with a big pic of spider man and MJ next to it. I cut it off and it is currently taped to the wall just above my desk. PEACE!  
  
Section 15  
  
I dreamed that someone was holding me tight.  
  
Someone had his arms around me, and I couldn't see his face. I was crying because I was sad for a reason I couldn't remember, and he was telling me it's okay. His cheek was hot and so very comforting. I pressed myself against him and simply let the tears pour.  
  
And he spoke to me with a voice that was so strong and familiar. He told me there was no need to cry, that it was okay to be me, okay to be who I want to be, and that I didn't need to be afraid.  
  
So I stopped crying, and I felt so small in his arms, like a child. I tried to pull away from him to see his face, the face of my hero, my love, but I couldn't because he was holding me so tight, and his skin began to turn cold, colder...  
  
Cold.  
  
I was cold.  
  
My body was still weak but I could move more at ease than before. I opened my eyes and saw only dark for a moment. My shoulder and face was lying against something cold and hard. For a moment I thought I was still home, underneath my bed, sleeping quietly.  
  
There was wind around me, however, sending chilling blows into my cloth. A little confused, I pushed myself up to my feet and stood.  
  
And nearly lost my balance as my heels touched air.  
  
My arms flailed in the air instinctively as I whirled around and looked down. There was nothing beneath me but air, thousands of feet of it. Lights and cars about the size of ants plowed by on the road below, and under that was black waters as far as the eye could see. A dry gasp escaped my lips as I flung myself forward with all my might and went sprawling on the cold metal before me.  
  
Above me was a dark sky.  
  
Below me was air and water.  
  
To my left and right I could see New York City, expanding into the distance.  
  
I was on top of the eastern tower of the Queensboro Bridge.  
  
Something swooped toward me from the sky, blazing and rumbling like a meteor. I ducked and it glided by inches above my head, nicking a metal pole on my left, sending sparks in my hair and wind in my ears. I straightened as soon as it passed and followed it with my eyes. It was exactly who I thought it was, the flying devil from my nightmares. His name escaped me at the moment, but I didn't care.  
  
Dry cackles burst from him as the cruised in the cold air, taunting my sanity. For a second I thought he was just gliding around with no purpose but to torture me, but then I heard the screams.  
  
Perhaps it was only my imagination, since the tram moving slowly from one end of the bridge to the other was too far away for me to hear anything, but something told me that there were people inside, much more scared than I am, and they were calling out for help as the green glider circled them.  
  
The glider suddenly dropped altitude as it neared the tram. I watched in horror as it fell in the air almost to ground level then rose again in the space of a second. I was just about to wonder what the green man was up to when the base of the bridge exploded.  
  
I gasped and shrunk back as fire shot up from below. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled my head as unfortunate drivers smashed into each other in confusion and shock. Heat singed my skin as the embers soared up to the tip of the tower and surrounded me. Amidst the fire and panic, I manage to keep my eyes on the tram and glider for a second longer, just long enough to see the suspension cable snap.  
  
The tram halted in midair and seemed to suspend there. I felt my stomach churn as it made a nose dive to the water.  
  
A shower of sparks flew into my face eyes. I shrieked and batted it away as it burned into my skin. When I turned my attention back to the tram again, expecting it to be sinking into the river, I couldn't find it anymore. Instead, the cruel cackling came back again, and this time it was much closer.  
  
The green man was gliding straight at me. In his hand he held the broken cable, still throwing off sparks from its jagged end. His strength was terrifyingly great, because as far as I could tell, he was pulling the tram up behind him as if it weighed no more than a bag of popcorn.  
  
I wanted to run.  
  
But the only way out was the waters below.  
  
The green man's glider landed a few feet from me. Every muscle in my body wanted to slump over and cower into a corner, but something about him annoyed me, perhaps the way he was holding on to the tram, which I now saw was full of children. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.  
  
He hopped off his vehicle and walked toward me. My legs felt like spaghetti as he leaned over me and stroke my cheek in a strange tenderness.  
  
"Scream for me," he breathed.  
  
I swallowed and managed to meet his gaze. "No."  
  
The hand left my cheek and moved down to my neck. The fingers were cold and hard as they tightened themselves on my skin. Their movement was torturously slow. "No?"  
  
I tried to pull his hand away from my neck, but without success. Behind him, kids were screaming in fear. Suddenly, I was angry. Summing up every ounce of courage I had, I spat in his face, directly in the lefty eye of his mask.  
  
Nothing happened for a second.  
  
Then, with a soft click, the yellow layer of his eyes slipped up, revealing a pair of hard black eyes. They stared down at me, looking right into the depth of my heart. I could only see one thing in them.  
  
Madness.  
  
"You're pathetic," he said with eerie calmness. "But you will soon learn." Rage burst from him as he suddenly pushed me into the air. "Nobody says 'no' to me!!"  
  
This time I screamed.  
  
The only thing to be said about that moment was that you did not know fear until you've hung there, with your neck in the grip of a walking nightmare, with the air above and the water below, and no hope on your mind.  
  
The cackling voice spoke. "Spider Man!" it said with sickish delight. I diverted my gaze from the water just long enough to see the man from my dreams standing among the metal beams of the bridge. Everything cleared in my mind then-I was bait.  
  
The green began to speak again but I simply couldn't concentrate enough to hear. I could not longer take my eyes off the waters. My legs kept swinging left and right, searching for any solid ground, as if they had a mind of their own. My slippers fell from my feet and plunged into darkness below.  
  
I started to cry.  
  
It wasn't really a tearful cry, but I was wailing, something I hadn't done since I turned two years old. But reality was sinking in painfully and I felt very small, and very helpless.  
  
Save me, I begged my hero mentally, save me please.  
  
But things were not that simple. Even in my hysterics, I heard the screaming of someone else-a child, on of the young children from the broken trams. They were suspended in the air just like I was, their lives all depending on a slight of hand from the green man.  
  
And he was there, just standing there in front of all this that he had to face along, looking from me, to them, and to the green man. I could almost feel the tearing pain of his mind.  
  
I didn't deserve to die.  
  
But neither did those children.  
  
Some little part of my mind wondered whether thing would be simple had I let the machine get the phone this morning.  
  
"Choose!"  
  
It was the last word I heard before the hand on my neck let disappeared. I was falling through the thin air, and screaming all the way down.  
  
Time stopped.  
  
And I was thinking a million things at once. My mind was denying that this was happening at all. It couldn't be. I couldn't be falling again, not again, and he would not catch me this time. The children, the children were falling, too, and how was he supposed to catch them? I felt like I was sinking into oblivion with no way out. A song crawled its way into my head as my arms reached up at the stars that grew further and further away.  
  
Do you I can fall into the sky...  
  
Do you think time would pass me by...  
  
You know I'd walk a thousand miles...  
  
Just to see you...  
  
Tonight...  
  
Then he was there, coming toward me in a flash of red and blue. Suddenly time sped up again, along with a spark of hope. He was going to catch me after all, just like last time.  
  
But it was nothing like last time.  
  
Spider Man dove at me. He slammed into my midsection so hard that the impact knocked the wind out of me. A strand of silver web shot out from his arm and we swung in a wild arc that was more nauseating than a roller coaster. I was still screaming as we flew all the way to the other side of the bridge.  
  
"Hold on!" he shouted in my ear as his arm let go. Quickly, I wrapped both arms around his body and did just that. We were moving so fast that my feet were above my head as we dove once again toward the waters. Wind howled and scraped against my skin.  
  
The whole world shook as we jerked to a stop. I could hear nothing save for the echoes of my own terrified voice. I may have screamed throughout the whole event, which took no more than a few seconds. At that time I wasn't aware of anything anymore.  
  
Sense crept back to me when I looked down. Spider Man was still in my arms but he was no holding me. With one held, he held on to a strand of white web that was stuck somewhere on the tower, in his other hand, he held the broken tram by the cable. His muscles were tense and pushed beyond their limits. He moaned softly but didn't say a word. I could only imagine the pain he was in.  
  
However selfish and impossible it may have been, I wished that he would hold me. I kept thinking, if only he would hold me, everything would be all right...  
  
...  
  
By the time I felt my foot fly out from under me, it was too late. I had stepped on the puddle heel first and my body suddenly lost control. A small shriek escaped me. It was one of those times when you knew what was happening but simply had it let it happen because there was nothing you could do about it. My head swung back and my feet went forward. I saw my lunch tray soar upward, throwing everything into the air. For a split second it was pretty cool, watching all the objects freeze for a second in space, then as it all began to come down, including me, I wondered how much this would hurt.  
  
Then I stopped.  
  
I was falling, but something stopped me half way. I blinked and saw Peter leaning over me. He had caught me on his arm and knee. His eyes froze on me for a second before turning. Like magic, I watched him catch the tray with his other hand, right side up, and receive all the food perfectly as they came down.  
  
"Thump," the food plate "thump," the milk "thump," the jello, still in its bowl.  
  
It all happened in a space of maybe two seconds.  
  
"Wow," I breathed. "Great reflexes. Thanks."  
  
Peter looked at me, then back at the tray on his hand, as if equally surprised by what he's done. He grinned as me sheepishly. "You're welcome."  
  
His smile made me see what was different about his face. His glasses were missing. For the first time since moving in next to him, I saw his features as a whole, without the thick spectacles in the way. For reasons unknown, it felt like seeing a few face and an old friend at the same time.  
  
"Hey, you have... blue eyes," I said, suddenly feeling stupid, half sitting on his lap and staring at his face with a stupid grin on mine. "I didn't notice without your glasses. Did you just get contacts?"  
  
Peter looked at me for a moment, probably wondering what I was babbling on about. I felt a little embarrassed as he smiled at me again, and wondered if he was humoring me. "Well... thanks," I mumbled and decided not to embarrass myself any further by taking my tray and continuing on my way.  
  
As I slumped down at Flash's table, I realized two things. One, the stupid grin was still on my face, as if it had taken on a life of its own. Two was that my heart rate was raising, alone with the heat on my face. All of a sudden I remembered the way he was looking at me when he first caught me. It was only for a second, but there was a hard, intense look that I had never seen before.  
  
...  
  
Light shun into my face. Something was coming at us from below. It was a barge, with its light beaming and heading in our direction.  
  
"Ahoy up there!" a voice shouted from the boat, "we're gonna bring the barge right under you!"  
  
Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing coming at us. A thick tendril of smoke following a small flying disc appeared from the bridge. The green man, who had witness all this from above, was starting the second round. A shriek escaped me.  
  
"He's coming back!" I cried, not having time to feel dumb for stating the obvious.  
  
"Listen!" Spider Man shouted to me over the wind and screaming children. "I need you to climb down!"  
  
I had never felt so helpless in my life as I hung on to him and sobbed weakly. "I can't..."  
  
"Yes, you can!" he said sternly.  
  
Before I could say anything, the thin web that held us all weakened. A few strands snapped and screams filled the air as we fell a few more yards toward the water and jerked to a stop. My throat was sore from screaming, but I couldn't stop.  
  
"M.J., you can do it," Spider Man told me in a voice that left no argument. "You have to!" he eased his face close to mine and said softly, "trust me."  
  
Something about those words made my tears stop flowing. Still shaking, I started to move downward, away from him.  
  
"Hold on tight," he told me, "go quickly"  
  
I let go of him completely and grabbed the cable. For a moment it didn't seem so hard, but when I wrapped my entire body around it, it suddenly felt so thin and so cold. I tried to move down slowly, but slipped and almost fell. Terrified, I held on with all my strength.  
  
A cackling sound came from above.  
  
"Hurry!"  
  
I wanted to move, but my body had lost all will. "I can't," I cried feebly, "I can't do it."  
  
"Hang on, Mary Jane!" He shouted to me the same second I saw the glider charge at him. It grazed his side and knocked him to the side. The cable shook violently, tossing me in the air like a rag doll.  
  
Before the shaking stopped completely, the glider came around for a second turn. This time, even though I didn't see it, the impact was much harder. The cable broke loose from Spider Man's grip and fell under the weight of the tram.  
  
It seemed to go on forever.  
  
Then the cable stopped falling, but I didn't.  
  
I could hold on no longer to the cold metal strands. My fingers slipped off and I was dropping face down toward the tram. My arms waved in all directions looking for a hold.  
  
The metal bar on the side of the tram slammed into my hand painfully. I gripped on for dear life, dimly aware that it was scraping a layer of skin off my palm. It hurt. It hurt so bad, but the only other choice was to fall.  
  
The lights from above had never seemed brighter as I wrapped my fingers tightly around the cold metal, not daring to let it slip even a bit. Through the stars in my vision, I could see inside the tram. Several pairs of little eyes peered out in horror, first at me, then higher up. Many eternities seemed to pass as I held on. I didn't know where I found the strength. Normally, I couldn't have held myself up like this for more than half a minute.  
  
I dropped down a hair.  
  
Every nerve in my body panicked right away and I closed my hands tighter and attempted to pull myself up, only to find that my fingers had gone numb from the cold. Just then, I realized that the rest of me was cold, too. I was clad only in a tank top, pajama pants, and a thin robe. The wind was whistling by me, and taking any warmth I had left with it.  
  
I closed my eyes and stopped struggling.  
  
.  
  
. "You'll think I'm a stupid little girl with a crush," I said with an embarrassed smile.  
  
"Trust me."  
  
Those words awakened something in me. It was not the first time I heard them from him, and every time he told me to trust him, I did. Every time he said them, I couldn't resist the urge to tell him everything.  
  
I took a deep breath. "It's funny," I said, one word at a time, feeling a bit unreal. "He's saved my life twice and I've never even seen his face."  
  
Why?  
  
Why did I tell him this?  
  
The truth was, I had never said those words out loud, or even admitted it to myself before. I had never realized how strongly I felt about him. Love didn't feel real until I stood in the hospital room that day, pouring my heart out to Peter Parker.  
  
A grin appeared on Peter's face. "Oh... him."  
  
"You're laughing at me!" I exclaimed, well aware that I was laughing myself.  
  
"No, no, I understand," he said quickly, sitting down in an armchair against the wall. Perhaps it was too ridiculous an idea to take standing up. I sat down across from him. "He IS extremely cool."  
  
Five words suddenly flashed across my mind.  
  
Some people don't think so.  
  
"But do you think it's true?" I asked Peter. "All those terrible things they say about him?"  
  
To my relief, he shook his head. "No, no, not Spider Man. Not a chance in the world. I know him a little bit." I raised an eyebrow. "I'm sort of his unofficial photographer."  
  
"Has he mentioned me?" The words were out before I could think. I felt silly just thinking of such a question. Why would he care about one girl he saved when he probably rescued hundreds each day?  
  
"Yeah." Peter replied casually.  
  
My heart skipped a beat. "What'd he say?"  
  
"Uh, I said," Peter stammered. I couldn't tell if he was making it up or just trying to remember the truth. It didn't matter. "He, he asked me what I thought about you."  
  
"And what did you say?" A little voice in my head told me to stop, just stop, but I couldn't.  
  
"I said, um, Spider Man..." I was watching him closely, probably too close, but he didn't seem to mind. "I said, um, the great thing about MJ is when you look in her eyes. And she's looking back in yours." Suddenly the room felt very quiet, as if the world had died out and left the two of us. I gazed into his eyes and once again discovered how blue they were. "Everything feels...not quite normal, because you feel stronger, weaker at the same time." I wanted to look away, but couldn't. "You feel excited. And at the same time, terrified."  
  
Soft.  
  
The world felt soft.  
  
"The truth is you don't know what you feel." It felt like he wasn't talking to Spider Man. He was talking to me for the first time ever. Perhaps I was imagining it, or maybe it was real. "Except what kind of man you wanna be."  
  
He had blue eyes.  
  
"It's as if you've reached the unreachable," he told me, "and you aren't ready for it."  
  
I laughed quietly. It felt good to do so. "You said that?"  
  
"Oh..." he looked away, as if snapping out of the trance we were both in. "Something like that."  
  
I reached for his hand.  
  
.  
  
I was there, just there, hanging in the air.  
  
There was a lot of noise above me, around me, but somehow I managed not to hear them. My fingers were no longer hurting, because a pair of strong hands had wrapped themselves around mine.  
  
I couldn't see it.  
  
No one could.  
  
But they were there and I couldn't ignore them. For a moment I felt as if I was drugged, dazed, and pushed backwards into a dream. I thought I would fall asleep and my hands would let go, letting me drop silently into the waters, never to rise.  
  
But it didn't happen, because I was no longer holding on. I was been held up.  
  
A bright light invaded my sight and suddenly everything swam back into focus. I opened my eyes and squinted. A bright spot in the darkness was coming directly from under me. At first I almost thought it was the earth opening up, then the black shape of the barge came into focus.  
  
The children were screaming again as the light drew closer. I had to look down to see that we were going toward it. It was at that same second that I realized I couldn't hold down any longer.  
  
Just before the tram dropped onto the barge with a thud, I let go.  
  
The fall was longer than I expected although it was no more than a second. I almost had to force my numb fingers to open. I landed painfully on my bare feet on the barge's gritty surface. I stumbled and fell on my rear and hands. One of my fingers poked into the barge hard enough to swell the next day.  
  
I stayed down there and simply breathed. Part of my mind was in denial that I was alive after all this, that I was actually still up there, hanging on and having one last fantasy.  
  
Something heavy draped over me. I turned and saw that one of the men on the barge had put a thick, musty jacket on my shoulder. I quickly wrapped it around myself and tried to thank him, only to find that my throat was in pain from the screaming. I just smiled at him.  
  
The children from the tram made their way out. They were surprisingly quiet and had a shocked look on their little faces, much like a deer in headlights. I got on my feet slowly, careful to check for bruises and wounds.  
  
When something snapped in my mind.  
  
I turned my eyes up and searched frantically. I found him. He was still there, hanging by the same strand of web that saved all of us. I watched him move his arm slowly, as if testing it, then gripped the web with both hands and began to pull himself up.  
  
Cheer erupted.  
  
People were clapping, from around me, from above, from every corner of the city, it seemed. Yesterday, he may have been the city's hated wall-crawler, and maybe he will be tomorrow, but at that moment, he was a hero.  
  
The cheers drowned out all the noises of the world. The cars, the planes, the water, and the cackling from above.  
  
But I heard it.  
  
And I saw it coming straight for him.  
  
My brain shouted for him to watch out, maybe I did out loud, too.  
  
I couldn't hear.  
  
I didn't know what happened. But a second later there was silence on the bridge, and the green man pulled Spider Man into the darkness of the night. 


	16. Section 16

Section 16  
  
I was delirious for two days.  
  
After arriving home at an empty house, I closed the door behind me heavily and just stood there for a while with my back against it, staring into space. With the last ounce of strength and will power left in me, I dragged myself upstairs and just fell into the bed.  
  
Perhaps I was sick, perhaps it was something else, but for roughly forty- eight hours I didn't get up. I just laid there, feverish, falling in and out of deep slumber. Sometimes I dreamed but it didn't make sense. Images flashed through my mind too quickly to be capture. One minute I was cold and in another I was burning up. Mom and George never did find out about this and for that I was thankful.  
  
Somewhere during my half-coma, I thought I saw someone in my room, or maybe out the window, looking in at me. At first I was afraid, but there was something familiar about the watcher and I relaxed, and fell back to sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
One the third day, I woke up suddenly to dim orange light. Slowly, I twisted my neck toward the window and saw that it was early morning. Every muscle in my body ached but I was no longer dazed. I began push myself up carefully but fell back down when pain seized my hands. Bringing them to my face, I saw that the skin on my palm and fingers were raw and swollen with an angry red. I didn't want to imagine what they looked like when I came home after that awful night.  
  
I laid there staring at my hands until they became blurry from the tears that formed themselves when I didn't notice. Frustrated, I wiped them away and propped myself up by the elbows. They felt sore, too so I rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. A wave of nausea came over me as soon as I steadied myself. I fought it and won.  
  
The cloth I had on were the same ones from two nights ago. They were winkled and damp from fever sweat. I held my arms back and shook them. The robe fell off easily enough but I simply could not muster any more will power to take off the top and pants. So I stood up, holding onto the headboard of the bed, and moved to the closet. With my head aching, I was in no mood to choose a decent outfit. There was a coat tossed in the corner so I lowered myself to the floor and took it.  
  
Stairs were a challenge. I took them one step at a time and had to stop at the bottom to keep from falling over with dizziness. Slowly, I went into the kitchen, opened the medicine cabinet and opened the first bottle of aspirin I saw. Getting a glass of water seemed like too much effort so I swallowed them dry.  
  
I slumped down at the dinner table and buried my face in my hands. Everything seemed so far away and too close at the same time. My mind kept thinking but my body just wanted more sleep.  
  
Eventually, behind the darkness of my eyelids, my headache eased as the medicine kicked in and I leaned back in my seat, dimly aware of the dried tear trails on my cheeks. I sniffed and it came out a struggled choke. My hands instinctively closed the coat tighter. The rough cloth felt somewhat good against my skin.  
  
My eyes wondered the room and landed on the window overlooking the backyard. Through it, I could see the metal fence separating my house and Peter's. At the moment, it stood empty, looking abandoned and lonely. It made me think of the night we stood there, under the moon, talking about our dreams for the future.  
  
For then, the future was now.  
  
Some dream.  
  
I chuckled humorlessly at the thought. It was then that I realized the coat I had on was the same one I wore that night.  
  
Peter.  
  
I had not seen him since that afternoon in the hospital, that afternoon when I held his hand and wished it would last forever. In fact, I often wished that I could stay with him in a moment. Forever.  
  
My hands tingled, as they would for the next several days, but I gripped them together tightly as memories gushed into my mind.  
  
That night, hanging on the bridge, holding onto Spider Man, I had hoped that he would hold me, but I was wrong. I wasn't hoping he would, I was thinking about Peter, wishing incoherently that he would appear and hold me, catch me, the was he did that day in the cafeteria.  
  
I wanted him to hold me, to help me.  
  
And he did.  
  
In my mind, in that last desperate moment, the very thought of him made me hold on. And I lived, I survived to this moment, because of him.  
  
Always have. Always will.  
  
Ever since that day on the bus. Or maybe even before that.  
  
.  
  
The car window glass felt slightly warm under the sun as I pressed my cheek against it, gazing with bewilderment at the big concrete buildings passing me by. Some of them seemed dull and stiff, others shun like an enormous crystal in the dimming light.  
  
A hand laid on my shoulder and pulled me close to my mother's warm body. I looked up at her loving face, the one she had when we were happy, and when we were a family.  
  
"Do you like New York, Mary?"  
  
I looked outside and suddenly felt very, very small, like an ant in a vast jungle. I nodded, "uh-huh."  
  
"Good," mom said, also looking out the window. "Because we're home now." There was something about her voice that made me think she knew I was afraid, but chose not to mention it. I leaned against her and slept.  
  
When I opened my eyes, the car had stopped and I was no longer laying in mom's arms, but sprawled on the back seat. Daddy was leaning over me through the open door. He was a strong man, with an unbreakable spirit and smile. I stretched my arms toward him and he pulled me up by the arms.  
  
For a six year old, even a little house in a little neighborhood seemed so big and intimidating. I was a little child, and remembered little save for the pretty color of the tree before our house, and daddy lifting me out of the car.  
  
I gazed around the street, eyes wide with all the curiosity of my young age. I was a little excited, but more afraid.  
  
But I did spot something, a kind-looking lady was coming toward us. She seemed so old to me at the time, like a fairy-tale grandmother. To her side, holding onto her hand tightly was a little boy my size. He was looking at me with the same naïve shock I was regarding him with.  
  
My parents immediately greeted the lady and they talk about thing I didn't understand. The little boy and I looked at each other for a long time. He pursed his lips in a thin line nervously. I just stared at him.  
  
A moment later, mom pushed me over in front of the two and said, "Mary, this is Peter. Why don't you go play with him?"  
  
I didn't move.  
  
Peter stepped forward a little, raised his free hand, and waved at me. Oddly, all my worries melted away with that simple movement of his little palm. I smiled.  
  
"I'm Mary Jane." I said shyly.  
  
.  
  
Peter was there on my first day in this city.  
  
And Peter was there on what could have been my last.  
  
I wanted to laugh.  
  
I wanted to cry.  
  
My ears were ringing so loudly that I thought I was going to need more medication. It took a while to realize that it was the doorbell. Dazed, I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled toward the door, catching the knob just in time to keep from falling.  
  
A little man dressed in a tan uniform stood on the porch. He reminded me of a mini-Santa Clause with his thick beard. I would have laughed in I had the strength when he tilted his glasses in a comical fashion. "Um, good day," he said, and checked a pad clipped full of paper in his hand. "Is Miss. Mary Watson in?"  
  
I nodded tiredly. "That's me."  
  
"Oh good, good," the little man said. A large bag hung across his broad shoulders. His free hand disappeared into the bag and fumbled for a while then reappeared with a white envelope. "Okay, I have a note for you here. Will you sign for it?"  
  
"Sure." I accept the pen he handed me and hoped that I spelled my own name right since the letters seemed to be dancing in front of my eyes. He handed me the envelope and nodded at me. "Have a nice day, miss."  
  
I smiled at him and closed the door before he even got half way down the driveway. The draft was making my eyes water. I brought the envelope up and examined it. It was a plain white envelope but my name and address were engraved in formal, gold letters on the front and it was marked for special delivery. Curious, I turned it over and found a round seal with the same gold trimming as the letters. In the center of it were two letters forming a round shape: OS.  
  
Oscorp Industries.  
  
I lifted the seal carefully and opened the envelope. Inside was a single engraved card, also with gold color and trims. A message was printed in the center. It was very simple, but very weighty:  
  
Mr. Harry Osborn. Requests the honor of your company At a funeral event In memory of The regretful passing of Mr. Normal Osborn  
  
I stared at the card for a long, long time, letting the meaning sink into my brain. For some reason no matter how many times I read it, the words didn't make sense. Too many questions popped into my mind at once, so sudden that it hurt.  
  
How?  
  
Why?  
  
I caught sight of the date at the bottom of the card. It made me realize that I had not been out for two days, but four, and a lot had happened in these few days. An image of Harry standing outside the hospital with me came to mind, but it gave me no answers.  
  
After a few minutes of stunned stupor, I went to the phone and reached for the receiver, remembering at the last minute what had happened to it. Feeling even more panicked, I dialed the first person I wanted to talk to on the speaker.  
  
It rang several times before a voice answered.  
  
"Hello, this is the Parker residence. Leave a message and your name please."  
  
I almost cried at the sound of Uncle Ben's voice. "Hi, Peter, it's M.J.," I said softly, trying not to sob, "I, um, just got a card from Harry. Can you call me back? Bye." After I hung up, I stood there staring at the phone, debating, and finally turned it on again and dialed Harry's number.  
  
Someone answered on the second ring. "This is the Osborn home." The voice was so monotonous that I thought it was an answering machine at first and waited for the beep. "Hello?"  
  
I started. "Oh, hi. May I speak to Harry Osborn?"  
  
"He is not available at the moment. I will take a message." It was not a question, but a statement.  
  
"Is he there?"  
  
"He is not available to take calls." There was a click on the other end.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Harry? Is that you?"  
  
There was a pause. "M.J.?"  
  
"Harry, what are you doing? What's."  
  
"Wait." He cut me off before I could finish. "That will be all, Max."  
  
"Yes, sir," the robotic voice answered and a click indicated that the other hung up. Harry's voice returned.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
I let out a nervous breath. "What's going on? Who was that?"  
  
"Butler."  
  
"You have a butler?"  
  
"I just hired one. I need someone to help me handle some. household affairs."  
  
The way he said those words made me shiver. "Harry, I just got your invitation."  
  
"So you'll be there, won't you?" he asked as if referring to a simple Sunday get-together.  
  
"What happened?" I cried. "How did he."  
  
"Mary Jane."  
  
I stopped. "Yes, Harry?"  
  
"You know I care about you, don't you?"  
  
"I suppose. yes."  
  
His voice had no feelings to them whatsoever. "So you will believe me if I say that I won't you because it's for your own protection?"  
  
I was suddenly frustrated. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm talking about," he said slowly as if speaking to a child, "that I am keeping my business my own because it will do you more harm than good to be in the middle of it. I'm sorry that I have to do this but you will have to trust me."  
  
My head cried out for more pills. "All right," I said with a sigh, "all right, Harry. Are you holding up okay?"  
  
"I'm fine. I'm glad to hear from you." It sounded rehearsed but I said nothing. "I would appreciate it if you would come to the funeral."  
  
"Okay. Take care then."  
  
"I will. Good-bye, M.J."  
  
"Bye, Harry." The phone clicked just as I finished my sentence, meaning he didn't even bother to listen to me before hanging up.  
  
~*~  
  
I wore a black dress to Mr. Osborn's funeral. It was not the same one I wore on our first meeting, but it gave me the same, dreaded, morbid feeling. When I first stepped into the church, I thought I would turn around and walk out. The chill in the atmosphere was only matched by the cold winter air outside. In front of me, at the end of the isle standing over his father's closed coffin, was Harry.  
  
Standing there numbly, I watched him run a pensive hand over the shiny wood lid. People passed him and offered sympathies, but he didn't look up or even acknowledge them. He had changed noticeably. Since the last time I saw him, he had lost weight, enough so that his face had a slight hard, chiseled look. His frame was no longer the shyly cute boy I dated, but one of a thin, determined man, toughened by hard times. He wore a black coat and gloved, giving him a slight resemblance to a certain businessman.  
  
He was a spitting image of his father.  
  
The idea made me tremble from the inside out. For a moment I imagined that I was standing there watching the ghost of Norman Osborn, burying what innocence remained of his son. I was just about to take leave when he looked up in my direction. There was no change in his slightly frowned expression when he spotted me. We stood eye to eye from across the room for a while until, at last, I walked toward him.  
  
He followed me with his eyes until I was direction in front of him. He seemed so much taller, and older, as if the old Harry had completely disappeared, or never existed at all. It saddened me to see him like this, forced to grow up so much in such a short time.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said with all my sincerity, which was the only thing I had left to offer him.  
  
The stony look in his eyes softened for a second and I thought I saw sadness in them, but they quickly hardened again as he said, "thank you."  
  
I slipped my arms around him and hugged him. It was probably the last time I would hold him in such a way, because I knew well that things would change after this day. He hesitated then hugged me back. His hold surprised me. It was not as hard as the expression on his face, which was what I had expected, but warm, and tight, one of a terrified child. I held back the tears stinging my eyes and pulled him tightly against me, but well aware that I would never be able to ease his pain again.  
  
"Take care," I whispered to him as he drew away.  
  
He looked down at me. "Take care of yourself."  
  
Perhaps it was only my imagination, but those few short words felt like they had more meaning to them than appeared. As I left Harry's side, Aunt May and Peter entered the church hall. Aunt May bore the same sad, woe- filled look that I felt. She signaled for me to sit next to them in the pew. As I neared them, I saw that Peter, although obviously depressed, seemed different from the rest of the guests. He had his gaze on the coffin and only turned it to nod to me. He had no tears in his eyes, and little remorse in his face, but something about him was despairing, as if he was tearing himself apart inside. As we sat through the ceremony, I noted that he seemed increasingly pained and even frustrated.  
  
But little could compare to the ache in my heart as Harry walked past me, one hand bearing his father's coffin. It was the moment that I knew without a doubt I would never again see the old Harry Osborn.  
  
~*~  
  
A brief reception was held in the cemetery. I couldn't remember who was there, or what was served, but what couldn't leave my mind was the thick layer of leaves on the courtyard, lying beneath the naked winter trees. It was as if everything in this chilling land had given up on life and laid to rest.  
  
I stood under the refreshment tent with Aunt May. She was speaking to someone, and perhaps I was, too, but I couldn't recall what we were talking about. My eyes were on a grave marker a few yards away. Beside it, Peter stood with Harry, comforting him perhaps. Harry still bore the same calm, hard expression. Even as Peter spoke to him, his face told me that he didn't accept any sympathies from his friend.  
  
Several minutes passed as I watched them. Everything else felt distant and blurred, even Aunt May, who was right in front of me. Peter seemed more and more stiff as he spoke. At last, Harry reached forward and hugged him briefly. Peter hugged him back but he moved as if he had no choice.  
  
Harry walked away, not looking back, as if he had some place to go, something important to do. Peter watched him go. Then, slowly, he turned toward me. I gave him a sad smile but he didn't respond. Lowering his gaze slightly, he walked away.  
  
A gentle hand laid on my arm. I turned to see Aunt May next to me, looking in Peter's direction with kind eyes.  
  
"Where is he going?" I asked her softly.  
  
She smiled slightly. "Can't you figure it out, dear?"  
  
I nodded. "I guess I can."  
  
Aunt May nudged me. "Why don't you go talk to him, Mary Jane? He could use a friend."  
  
Somehow, I had the notion that she knew. She knew everything, even before I knew, and she wanted him to know. There was something mystical about her and there always will be. This might not be the time. This might not be the place. But for some odd reason, everything felt right.  
  
~*~  
  
Peter was exactly where I thought he would be. He stood, head down, over his uncle's grave. I hadn't seen him so lost and sad since that night we sat together on the curb, talking about nothing and everything. I walked to his side and hugged him.  
  
"You must miss him so much."  
  
He held me and I heard tears in his voice. "It's been so hard without him."  
  
My heart was pounding as I let go and stepped back a bit, just enough to gaze into his deep blue eyes. It seemed like I've waited for this for a long, long time. "There's something I've been waiting to tell you," I said, much more steady than I had expected. "When I was up there, and I thought I was going to die, there was only one person I was thinking of." He was looking at me intently and I felt the words guide themselves out of me. "It was you, Pete. I kept thinking, 'I hope I make it through this.'" I reached up and touched his cheek with one hand. It had never felt the same as on this cold day. "'.so I could see Peter Parker's face one more time.'"  
  
My face was probably red and warm as Peter gazed into me. "Really?" he said with a slightly quiver.  
  
Nothing to tell now but the truth. "There's only one man who's always been there for me," I said earnestly, "who makes me feel like I'm more than I ever thought I could be. That I'm just. me, and that's okay." I drew a little closer to him, feeling his soft breath on my cheek. "The truth is, I love you." It was getting hard to hear over my beating heart. "Oh, I love you so much, Peter," I breathed.  
  
There was nothing left to lose as I pulled him close to me and kissed him with all I had. His skin felt good against mine, so warm and reassuring. He paused, but then he was kissing me back, first light, then passionately, with the same fire I gave to him. I wondered if this was what true happiness was. A warm kiss in a cold world.  
  
When we parted, the sky seemed brighter. Something in my heart told me, everything would be all right. Peter was here, and he knew now, and when we're together, nothing will bring us down again.  
  
"I can't."  
  
The words didn't sink in. "You can't what?"  
  
The look in his eyes was unreadable. "Tell you all. everything." I didn't understand, perhaps because part of me didn't want to. "I mean, there's so much to tell."  
  
I gathered all the hope inside in me and smiled. "Yeah, there's so much to tell."  
  
"I want you to know," he said slowly, "that I'll always be here for you. I will always be there to take care of you." The remorse in his voice was painful. "I promise that, I'll always be your friend."  
  
The tears returned to me and I hated them badly, but could not make them go away. "Only a friend," I said with a trembling voice, "Peter Parker?"  
  
"That's all I have to give."  
  
I have never before felt so few words hurt so much. He was still standing in front of me, but I could no longer look at him. My vision blurred with the river of hot tears as they slid down my cheek. Peter gave me one last tender look and walked past me without another word.  
  
I stood there, feeling for the first time totally alone in the world. There was nothing I could do, and the helplessness was unbearable as I brushed my tears away from my eyes and lips.  
  
Suddenly, something clicked. My fingers stopped on my lips and simply stayed there as images and words flashed by my mind. His words, his kiss, they have been with me all the way. Today, and that night.  
  
That kiss.  
  
That unforgettable kiss as he hung up side down in front of me, dripping wet in the rain.  
  
My head snapped up in the direction he went as everything fell into place clearly. There was no more doubt in my mind, because I finally understood.  
  
I watched him walk away. Tall, heroic, and fearless. He had been there for me all the way and I knew that he will continue to be.  
  
It was him.  
  
It had always been him.  
  
Peter Parker.  
  
~*~  
  
The love of a hero would not do in the world we live in, because it is too fleeting to take anchor in one place. But it is this love that holds us all together. I know, and I will wait, until one day, he returns to me, a hero no more, only a man.  
  
THE END 


End file.
